The Last Chance
by marylou
Summary: When the Order of the Phoenix is defeated and Voldemort has won, Harry, Hermione, and Ron decide that time travel is their last chance. Unfortunately, things don't always go as planned...
1. Chapter 1

Privet Drive looked very different from what Harry remembered. But then, it had been a few years since he had been there, and a lot had happened in those years.

The last time Harry had been there was the summer after his sixth year at Hogwarts, after Dumbledore had been murdered. The Order had arrived to escort him to the Burrow and to escort the Dursleys to a safe house somewhere. That was the last time Harry had seen them. The safe house the Dursleys were in had been attacked during the war and the house burned down. Aunt Petunia's body had been found in the ashes, along with two bodies that had been burnt beyond recognition but were no doubt Uncle Vernon and Dudley.

They were among the lucky ones who had died before the Return.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione's curt voice snapped Harry out of his reverie. He shook his head, realizing that he had been walking along the road without keeping an eye out like he was supposed to. "Sorry," he said, giving Hermione a sheepish look. "This place is bringing too many memories back. I got lost in my thoughts."

Hermione's glare softened marginally.

"I know what you mean, mate," Ron said. "Never thought I'd be back here, either." He glanced around, shivering.

The war had not been good to Harry's old home street. The asphalt on the road was cracked, with enough potholes to make driving on the street impossible, despite the fact that no one had cars anymore. The homes were rundown, with broken windows and junk-ridden, overgrown yards. The suburb hadn't been affected by some of Voldemort's more flamboyant attacks, but the general neglect and fear had taken its toll.

Harry saw a movement in a window of one of the houses. If he remembered correctly, the house had belonged to Mark Evan's family. He kept a close eye on it as they passed, twisting his head around to watch for the tell-tale feeling of wrongness that accompanied the Shades.

"Harry?" Hermione asked. He shook his head. "Something moved, but it doesn't feel like a Shade. I think it's either an animal or a human."

"Don't look!" Ron said as Hermione started to turn. "If it is a human, then we don't want to attract attention. If they know how to recognize disillusionment charms, then we're screwed."

"And if it's a Shade?" Hermione asked.

"I just said it's probably not," said Harry irritably. Ron shrugged. "If it is a Shade, then it's already seen through the charm and it's too late."

Hermione sighed. "I miss apparating," she muttered.

Harry nodded in silent agreement. Apparition was too dangerous for them, now that Voldemort could track it. The only ones who apparated anymore were the death eaters. The trio had traveled for weeks on foot, weaving their way through the country to get in touch with the last pockets of resistance. As Voldemort's return had grown obvious and the world had grown aware of the war, the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's army had been joined by other witches and wizards. And when the war had escalated so much that keeping the wizarding world secret had become impossible, the resistance had been joined by muggles.

It was something that had surprised Harry, and had probably taken Voldemort completely aback, but the muggles were more effective than the magical world was. The death eaters did not understand muggle technology and weapons, and so they underestimated them.

It was from one of those muggles that had set Harry, Hermione, and Ron on their scavenger hunt among the centers of resistance.

A group in London had been salvaging books from both muggle libraries and wizarding homes and combing through them in search for something that would help give them an edge.

They had found a book on time travel. The wizards had quickly cast it aside as useless since everyone knew that time turners were the only means of time travel, and they only went back five hours before it became too dangerous, but one of the muggles had taken and read it and found an experimental spell that had seemed promising. The Ministry's research into time travel had been destroyed with the fall of the Ministry, but the people who had looked at the spell seemed to think it was worth a shot.

The notes and instructions just looked like nonsense to Harry, but Hermione thought it might be possible.

Unfortunately, the list of potions ingredients required were long and varied and they couldn't just waltz into an apothecary and buy what they needed, so a quick visit to various safehouses had been necessary to pick up ingredients. It helped that they had been planning to make the attempt at Harry's childhood home and just took a circuitous route. The trip had taken them a few months, but they had finally arrived.

They stopped in front of number four. It was intact and looked the way Harry remembered, albeit unkempt. He grabbed Aunt Petunia's spare key from the flower pot by the front door and unlocked the door. Once they were inside, they followed the careful routine they had developed over the years: Ron inspected the ground floor for traps or spells, Hermione placed the protective enchantments, and Harry helped Ron until the house was cleared and then helped Hermione finish her rune circle.

Once everything was finished, they sat in the living room staring at each other.

"Right," Harry said, clearing his throat nervously. There was no excuse for them now; no last minute supplies that needed to be fetched or theories to be researched. "I guess we should get started, then."

The time travel spell combined potions and runes together, and like most magic, involved the witch or wizard focusing mentally on what they wanted. Unlike time turners, which employed an hour-reversal charm, the spell was designed to tear a hole in the fabric of time big enough for a person to slip through. When she had first read the description, Hermione had gotten excited and started rambling about some muggle scientific theory, which had all gone over Harry's head, but from what he understood, it might be possible for a powerful magic user to force whatever time was made off apart and create a hole.

They cleared all of the furniture out of the living room, and Hermione drew a large circle of runes on the bare floor and set up her cauldron with her trademark bluebell flames underneath. She pulled out her bag of potions ingredients and began brewing.

Two hours later, Hermione was feverishly stirring the potion with a look of concentration on her face. Harry could tell from the color of the smoke exuding from the bubbling cauldron that it was at a critical stage. They had all pored over the recipe for hours, and had memorized every step. Not that it stopped Hermione from keeping the book in front of her. She checked it again, for the umpteenth time.

It made Harry wish that Fred and George were still with them; he knew how good they had been at potions, despite their dismal grades in it at school. That wasn't even their fault, though, it was Snape's. Thinking about it made Harry regret that Snape was dead. He had a few things he would have liked to discuss with him.

The potion reached the temperature it was supposed to, and Hermione carefully added the final ingredient and stirred. They all held their breath as bubbles rose to the surface, and then a silver shimmering vapor followed.

Ron audibly let his breath out.

"What are you so anxious for?" Harry laughed tiredly. "You're not going to be the one using it."

"No, but I'm going to have to watch you use it," he retorted. Their eyes met. Harry understood what he meant. After everything that had happened, everything they had lost, and all of it together it was hard for Ron and Hermione to watch him take on this adventure alone.

But there was no other way. The potion only made enough for one person to travel back, and it would take too much time to prepare again. Voldemort had taken over the country and was invading the rest of the world. There was no chance of defeating him now, and even if they could, there would be no world left to save. It was their last chance to save everyone, and it was an untested spell that no one had heard of before.

"Thirty more minutes at a constant boil," Hermione said, "and then we take it off the heat and cover it." She consulted the book again.

Ron flopped onto the couch. "Mate, why do you keep checking that? We all know you have it memorized."

"Does it hurt to check again?" Hermione asked him. She put the book back down on the table and sat next to Ron on the couch. They all stared silently into space, thinking and remembering.

Harry thoughts wandered again to his memories of Privet Drive. About where they were, and how the place had changed. There was a myriad of memories associated with the house, most of them bad, but with a few good ones thrown in there, like when Ron, George, and Fred had rescued him second year, or when the Order had showed up fifth year and rescued him.

Most of them were dead now. Either dead, imprisoned, or disappeared. And it was all in this house where it had started.

The plan had been for them to use polyjuice, and divide into groups to confuse the death eaters. But then everything had gone wrong when Snape had killed George, and Remus had retaliated and killed Snape. The deaths just kept coming after that: Bill and Fleur hadn't made it out of their wedding alive, the students and teachers at Hogwarts who had tried to fight back were publicly executed to discourage others from following their example, and almost the entire Order had been slowly picked off.

And that was all before the dead started coming back. No one knew how, but somehow Voldemort had become a necromancer, and the Shades had started popping up. Not inferi; those were just reanimated corpses with no memory of their life. The Shades remembered who they had been, and they were completely controlled by Voldemort. Harry was familiar enough with the muggle concept of zombies from Dudley's video games, and they were similar, except Shades could think.

The old cuckoo clock on the wall chimed, startling Harry out of his thoughts for a moment. He was surprised that the clock still worked. The house had been abandoned for a few years, ever since the Order took the Dursleys into hiding.

Hermione broke the silence. "Alright, Harry, what's the plan once you make it through?"

Ron groaned, shifting in his seat. "Come on, 'Mione, we've already been through this a thousand time. He knows what to do."

But Hermione kept her eyes fixed on Harry. He sighed and ran a hand through his already tangled hair, tangling it even more.

"I have to focus on when I want to travel to. I have to envision it completely in my mind, like with apparating. And then I step through the smoke, still focusing on the date I want to go to."

"Which is?"

"September 1, 1991."

Hermione nodded. "Good. And once you're there?"

"I contact Dumbledore and tell him about everything. If we can, we find and destroy Riddle, and if we can't, then we stop him from gaining power. Then I find and personally kill a couple death eaters."

Hermione's eye twitched at that last statement. Harry knew she wanted to object to it, but they had already had this argument multiple times and she knew he would have his revenge.

"And then?" she prompted again.

Harry's mouth tightened. "I… relax. And enjoy my life." The words tasted strange in his mouth. It was something he'd never expected being able to do.

"And you have the notes I wrote up for you?" Harry patted the moleskin pouch from Hagrid that was hanging from his neck. "Got 'em right here."

Hermione nodded. "Good." She glanced over at the clock, then the cauldron. "I think it's almost ready."

"The question is, are you almost ready?" Ron joked.

Harry managed a half-hearted smile. "I'm gonna have to be."

It was hard to prepare for time travel, especially with so much at stake. But the hardest thing for him would probably be having to see everyone again- the Weasleys, Remus, Sirius, Tonks, McGonagall… they would all be there. Everyone who was now gone, and he would have to face them, talk to them... he didn't know how he could do it without breaking down and crying.

"It's ready," Hermione's quiet voice announced.

Harry looked up, taking a deep breath. Ron stretched, his arms high in the air. "Well, this is it, mate. Good luck." The unspoken words, "you're going to need it," hung in the air between them.

Harry took another deep breath and stood up. Hermione lifted the lid of the cauldron, revealing the shimmering silver sea inside.

"It's beautiful." For some reason, Harry was surprised by that.

Hermione carefully lifted the cauldron from the table and poured it into the rune circle on the floor. The silvery potion spread to the edge of the runes and then stopped.

"When the fog appears," Hermione reminded Harry again, "step completely into the circle and stay there, concentrating on when you want to go to.

Harry nodded, his eyes fixed on the circle.

His concentration was shaken by a yell, coming from above them

Ron frowned. "Did that come from upstairs?"

There was another indistinguishable shout, this time definitely coming from upstairs.

"We forgot to check the entire house when we got here," Harry groaned.

"Don't beat yourself up about it. We were in a hurry, and didn't expect anybody to be here," said Hermione.

Ron pulled out his wand.

"Don't do anything!" Hermione yelled. "Casting spells near the potion will disrupt the magical field!"

"But there's someone up there!" Ron said desperately. His eyes flickered towards the circle on the floor. Tiny wisps of smoke were beginning to form.

"Just ignore it. They don't know we're here, and have no reason to come downstairs." Despite her words, Hermione's eyes flickered to the stairs. "Harry, are you ready?" she asked tersely.

Harry nodded wordlessly. His throat was dry.

The first wave of smoke was rising from the potion and Harry was mentally preparing himself to step into it just as a drunken Vernon Dursley stumbled down the stairs and into the room, stopping just inside the circle.

"No," Hermione said. For some reason, her voice was calm.

Vernon caught sight of Harry. His face filled with rage. "Potter! This is your fault! They're dead because of you!"

Vernon's body started to fade out as the smoke waved around him. He looked down, and, realizing his body was disappearing, reached out to hurl the empty bottle in his hand at Harry. Just as the bottle would have left his hand, Vernon disappeared, hurtling through time and space.

"Well," Ron said, "Someone's going to get a surprise."

"I wonder what time he was thinking off," was Hermione's response.

Harry was full of despair. "That was our last chance."


	2. Chapter 2

**Number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey, July 25, 1995**

Harry lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had had another nightmare again. He had woken himself up with his gasping and pleas for Voldemort to not kill Cedric. He hadn't even known Cedric that well. Why was it affecting him so much?

But whenever Harry closed his eyes, he could see it again...when he had entered that graveyard and watched Cedric being murdered and then been tied to that tombstone and nearly been killed himself. Even when he escaped nightmares about Cedric he had unsettling dreams about Voldemort killing his friends. It made it worse to know that Voldemort was out there, somewhere, and Harry was stuck in Muggleville on Privet Drive with no one telling him what was going on in the wizarding world. The letters from Ron and Hermione were full of stale assurances that they would tell him what was going on if they could, but Dumbledore said not to.

Harry rolled over in bed. He glanced at the clock. Almost seven. In only fifteen minutes, Aunt Petunia would bang on his door and tell him to start their breakfast cooking. He rolled back onto his back and let out a lengthy sigh. Reaching up to rub at his scar, he tried to massage out the ache that was always there when his nightmares woke him up. He did not fool himself that Ron or Hermione or Sirius would find that very interesting anymore. In the past his scar hurting had warned that Voldemort was getting stronger again, but now that Voldemort was back they would probably remind him that its regular irritation was only to be expected. Nothing to worry about, old news.

The injustice of it all welled up inside him so that he wanted to yell with fury. If it hadn't been for him, nobody would even have known Voldemort was back! And his reward was to be stuck in Little Whinging for four solid weeks, completely cut off from the magical world, reduced to squatting among dying begonias so that he could hear about water-skiing budgerigars! How could Dumbledore have forgotten him so easily? Why had Ron and Hermione gotten together without inviting him along too? How much longer was he supposed to endure Sirius telling him to sit tight and be a good boy; or resist the temptation to write to the stupid Daily Prophet and tell them exactly what he thought? These furious thoughts whirled around in Harry's head, and his insides writhed with anger.

His sulking was interrupted by Aunt Petunia banging on the door.

"Time to get up! Hurry up and start breakfast cooking!"

Twenty minutes later, Harry stood at the stovetop scrambling eggs while the sausages sizzled on another pan. Aunt Petunia was reading one of her magazines. Uncle Vernon and Dudley sat at the breakfast table sipping tea. Uncle Vernon was reading the newspaper while Dudley played with one of his games.

There was a knock at the door.

Uncle Vernon glanced up from his newspaper with irritation. "Who could that be at this early hour? Don't they have any consideration? We're trying to eat! Get the door, boy."

Harry hurriedly finished plating up the sausages and eggs and placed them in front of Uncle Vernon and Dudley before rushing off to the door. Dudley didn't even acknowledge him, too busy shoving the food in his mouth.

Harry opened the door and froze. "Ah, Harry, good morning," Professor Dumbledore said. "How wonderful to see you." The headmaster was wearing a purple three-piece suit that wouldn't have looked out of place on a circus clown. It was still more discreet than what he normally wore at Hogwarts, so Harry was at least grateful for that.

"Professor," Harry said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said hesitantly glancing around the street, "Perhaps you could let me in? There are a few items that I need to discuss with your aunt and uncle, and it is a matter of some urgency."

Harry looked back towards the dining room. He knew exactly how the Dursleys would react to magical visitors showing up unexpectedly on a Saturday morning, and he didn't want to deal with it. He stepped out onto the front door step, closing the door partly behind him. "It's not really a good time, professor."

"It really is important, Harry," Dumbledore said gently but firmly, his voice leaving no room for resistance.

"Is it about Voldemort?" Harry asked. Maybe at last he'd find out what was going on by himself. Maybe he didn't need Ron or Hermione's help.

"There is no immediate danger." Harry noticed that Dumbledore had avoided the question about Voldemort. "Could you fetch your uncle, please." His tone left no room for Harry to question.

Harry sighed and resigned himself to the next few weeks. He stepped back into the house and retraced his steps to the dining room. "Uncle Vernon? He says he needs to speak with you?"

Vernon threw his newspaper onto the table angrily. "What? On a Saturday morning? Who do they think they are?"

"Uhh…" Harry glanced back at the door. "It's- uh, well, that is-"

"Forget it," Vernon muttered. "Just show them into the living room, boy. Don't know why we bother letting you stay here. Should have left you on the steps of an orphanage long ago."

Harry flushed and tried not to think about Dumbledore hearing his uncle lambast him.

Vernon let Dumbledore wait on the uncomfortable sofa for a few minutes before he walked about.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, you know how-" then he caught sight of who it was. "YOU!" He pointed accusingly at Dumbledore. "BOY! Why didn't you say it was one of your freaks! I'll not have it! I'll not have it in my house, you hear me! One is enough!"

"Mr. Vernon?" Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. "I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced. I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"I know who you are, you're a crackpot old fool and I don't want any of your freakishness in my house!" Dudley poked his head into the room to see what all the fuss was, saw Dumbledore, squeaked in terror, and ducked back into the kitchen.

Dumbledore smiled blandly. "Mr. Dursley, I am here on an important matter, and I must request that you be quiet, or I will be forced to silence you."

The spell wasn't necessary, as the threat was enough to silence him.

Dumbledore sat back down on the overstuffed armchair with a sigh. "Won't you join me, Mr. Dursley?"

Uncle Vernon glared at him. "Just say what you've got to say and get out, Dubblerore."

Dumbledore winced slightly at the mispronunciation of his name, but pressed on. "Like I said, Mr. Dursley, I am Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of the school that your nephew attends. We have a few spells and wards placed on this house in order to ascertain the safety of your family. One of these- well, to be honest, I doubted that it would ever be needed, but it recently caught an anomaly. Now it could just be a normal fluctuation; these things do happen on their own without any outside interference, but I just wanted to be sure that everything was safe. I'm sure you feel the same way, Mr. Dursley." Dumbledore beamed at Uncle Vernon.

Uncle Vernon's look of confusion had grown while Dumbledore was talking. "What- you mean there's some kind of danger here? From your people?" He started to turn towards Harry, who flinched away from him.

"There likely isn't any danger, Mr. Dursley," he said smoothly, "It happens every now and then. It's probably nothing, but considering who lives here, I would just feel better if you allowed me to make a few quick tests, and then I'll be on my way. It'll be like I was never even here," he finished cheerfully.

"You mean," Vernon blanched. "You'll be doing magic? Here?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Just to be sure that everything is the way it's supposed to be."

"Right then," Vernon said. "I guess we'll leave you lot to it. Boy!" he snapped at Harry. "Don't forget to clean up the breakfast mess. We're going out. Petunia!" There was a squeak from the kitchen. "Out? But Vernon, it's so early!"

Vernon mumbled something that Harry couldn't hear, and then Petunia scurried past the living room, completely ignoring it and the people sitting inside. Dudley put up a small fit about having to leave the house, but Vernon was not to be budged, and soon they Dursleys were on their way out the door, carefully avoiding looking at Dumbledore. Petunia gave Harry a few last orders about cleaning up the mess from breakfast and others chores that would doubtless take him the entire day to complete, and then Harry and Dumbledore were sitting alone in the living room.

"Well, Harry," Dumbledore said, "I hope your summer has been well so far." He pulled a bag from a pocket of his glitzy robe and began rummaging through it.

Harry stared at him, noticing now that the Dursleys were gone that Dumbledore was avoiding his gaze. "Sir? Was it true, what you told Uncle Vernon?"

"Hm?" Dumbledore looked up from where he was examining something that looked like an oversized time turner, only without the sand, that he had pulled from his bag.

"That you have spells monitoring the Dursleys' house, and that there's some kind of," Harry searched for the exact words that Dumbledore had used, "anomaly? That could be dangerous?"

The headmaster nodded seriously. "I'm afraid so. I didn't go into detail with your uncle, of course, but it seems that there is the beginning of a tear in the fabric of time, and it is centered at number 4 Privet Drive. It could be just a coincidence. Time magic is still very much a mystery, and there are often fluctuations that start and go away without any obvious cause. But the timing and location of this one is suspicious."

"What do you think could be causing it?"

He shrugged slightly. "I have a few hypothesi."

Harry stared at him, the bitter feelings of resentment that had been building up all summer coming to the surface again. "Right. But you're not going to tell me because you think I'm a child?"

Dumbledore chuckled. Once again, he avoided Harry's eyes. "Rather, the magical theory would go far over your head. To make sure that the readings we've been getting are a fluke and not a sign of something bigger going wrong, I'm going to be using runes and arithmancy, neither of which you are familiar with." He looked at Harry with gentle eyes. "I promise, Harry, that once I know if there is any danger, I will let you know."

That calmed Harry down, but only a little. Dumbledore hadn't said that he'd let Harry know what was going on, only that he'd tell him if there was danger. Not the same thing. But regardless, he reined in his temper and sat back to watch Dumbledore work his magic.

Dumbledore focused on his work, ignoring Harry for the time being. He rolled the rug up with a quick spell and moved the other furniture in the room to the side. After crouching down in the middle of the cleared room, he gently placed the sandless time turner in the middle of the floor, then conjured a stick of charcoal and used it to draw a precise circle around the hourglass. He spent almost fifteen minutes meticulously drawing seven runes around the circle, a look of extreme concentration on his face. Once they were all drawn out and he had inspected them for flaws, he sat back on his ankles and waved his wand over them. The rune directly under his wand started glowing. Dumbledore kept his wand over the rune circle as the glow started spreading to the other runes. Once all of the runes were glowing slightly, Dumbledore lowered his wand and let out a breath.

"Now what?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore jumped slightly. "Ah, Harry, I had almost forgotten that you were still there." He glanced over at Harry, and then looked quickly back to the hourglass.

"Is it supposed to do something?" Harry asked. He was getting tired of Dumbledore's constant prevarication.

"Ah, yes, as a matter of fact. If those readings from my monitoring spell were, in fact, the result of someone deliberately messing with time and the fabric of time is in the act of being torn, then a trickle of sand will begin falling from the top chamber of the Tempus Diagnostician Glass." Dumbledore gestured to the hourglass.

"Like a timeturner?" Harry asked.

"Yes, similar to that. If, however, the readings were the result of the normal fluctuations of time, then nothing will happen."

Harry looked at the hourglass. "How long is it supposed to take?"

Dumbledore also looked to the Tempus Diagnostician Glass. "If there is no movement of the sand within one hour, then it is just normal fluctuations." He waved his wand and a timer appeared in the air, counting down from one hour. Dumbledore sat down on the couch and pulled a book out of his bag.

"It will take a while, Harry," he told the boy, looking at him over the tops of his glasses. "You can go do something else, if you like. There is no need to stay in this room. I know your aunt would appreciate it if you cleaned up the kitchen."

Harry nodded. "Right." He left the room and went into the kitchen and started clearing the table.

It took Harry longer than it normally would to clean up because he kept sticking his head into the living room every couple of minutes to see if anything had happened. Nothing had happened yet, but it gave him the chance to think.

All Ron and Hermione would tell him in their letters was that "there's a fair amount of things going on, we'll tell you everything when we see you…" "We're quite busy but I can't give you details here…" "Dumbledore told us not to tell you anything in case our letters go astray…" Not knowing anything was driving Harry crazy, and now he had Dumbledore here, in his living room. He set his dish cloth down decisively and walked into the living room, sitting down on the sofa beside Dumbledore.

"Sir?" he asked.

Dumbledore looked up. "Yes, Harry?"

"What's Voldemort up to? I've been checking the Prophet, but there doesn't seem to be anything about him, and I haven't had any visions lately,"

It was barely noticeable, but Dumbledore flinched at the mention of his visions. His slender fingers played with the corner of his book. "Right now, my boy, he is gathering strength and followers, as are we."

Harry seized onto what Dumbledore had said. "Who is 'we'?"

"The Order of the Phoenix. A group that fought him in the first war."

"And what is the Order doing to fight against Voldemort in this war?" This had to be what Ron and Hermione had been talking about. The Weasleys were probably in the Order, so Ron would definitely know what was going on. Harry felt another surge of anger at his friends for keeping him in the dark. He knew they had been told not to tell him anything, but it's not like they had never broken rules before!

"We're doing our best, Harry, I promise you that."

Harry growled in exasperation. "But what are you doing? What are you doing exactly? Do you know what Voldemort's doing specifically? Do you know when he's going to try and kill me again?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Harry, we're not sure what his plans are concerning you yet."

Harry snorted. "Professor, please don't lie to me. He's been trying to kill me for years, for whatever reason made him want to come after me in the first place when I was a baby, and I know you know what that reason was!" Harry's voice kept gaining in volume, the pent up emotions and stress that had been building from a summer of being belittled and ignored by the Dursleys after everything that he had seen during the Tournament finally finding an outlet.

"So don't try and tell me that it's not my business! Because Voldemort made it my business when he killed my parents." Harry wasn't sure when he had jumped to his feet to glare accusingly at Dumbledore, but it had happened.

In his anger, neither he nor Dumbledore noticed a few grains of sand fall from the top chamber of the Tempus Diagnostician Glass into the bottom chamber. The grains fell through the air in the chamber slower than gravity should have allowed them to and vanished as soon as they touched the glass at the bottom.

"Harry, please calm yourself," Dumbledore said gently. Harry glared at him and didn't move. Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Harry, you are still young. You have your whole life before. I do not want you to live your life worrying and looking over your shoulder, and if I tell you all that I know, you will never be able to live a normal life until Voldemort is finally destroyed."

Harry snorted. "Somehow, I doubt Voldemort is going to be so generous. How do you expect me to survive if I don't know what's going on?" Harry could feel his anger and disdain twisting his face.

Dumbledore examined Harry's face closely, his clear blue eyes piercing. "Perhaps I was wrong, to leave you here alone," he said softly. "You have suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years."

He paused. Harry said nothing.

"But my priority has always been to keep you alive. When you were a child, that meant not being as open about your relationship with Voldemort as you would have liked. But perhaps now, that means keeping you better informed. Harry, I will make a promise to you, if you will make one to me. Promise me that you will not go chasing after danger."

"If I agree, what will you promise me?" Harry asked, looked down and away from Dumbledore.

"That I won't keep you completely in the dark, that I will keep you better informed. I trust that if I keep my promise, it will be easier for you to keep yours." He smiled self-deprecatingly.

He smiled at Harry again and rose to his feet. He looked down at the hourglass.

"Well, my boy, the allotted hour has passed, and the sand remains still. You may tell your uncle when he returns, that this house is completely safe and you are in no danger here."

"What?" Harry said, confused by the sudden change of topic. "You mean there's nothing going on with the- the fabric of time?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Just that."

"But what could have caused those readings?" Harry asked.

"Harry, my boy, I am afraid that there are some things in this world that we do not understand yet, and time magic is one of those. Naturally occurring ripples in the fabric of time are not completely unknown, just exceedingly rare. If we knew everything, then where would the adventure be?" He winked at Harry.

Dumbledore waved his wand and vanished the charcoal-drawn runes from the floor and restored the rug and furniture to their original places.

"I will take my leave now. You will be perfectly safe here for the next few weeks, and then I imagine the Weasley family will get in contact with you to arrange for you to stay with them for the remainder of the summer. Try and stay out of trouble until then." He smiled and nodded at Harry before leaving.

Unfortunately, Harry's knack at finding trouble hadn't deserted him, and within a few days, he was stumbling back to the house, lugging a half-comatose Dudley with him after a dementor attack.

Dumbledore shouldn't have jinxed it, he thought. Of course if you tell me to stay out of trouble, trouble's gonna take that as a challenge and search me out.

They made it to the front door of Number 4. The hall light was on. Harry stuck his wand inside the waistband of his jeans, rang the bell, and watched Aunt Petunia's outline grow larger and larger, oddly distorted by the rippling glass in the front door.

"Diddy! About time too, I was getting quite- quite- Diddy, what's the matter?"

Harry looked sideways at Dudley and ducked out from under his arm just in time. Dudley swayed for a moment on the spot, his face pale green, then he opened his mouth at last and vomited all over the doormat.

"DIDDY! Diddy, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!"

Harry's uncle came galumphing out of the living room, walrus mustache blowing hither and thither as it always did when he was agitated. He hurried forward to help Aunt Petunia negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold while avoiding stepping in the pool of sick.

"He's ill, Vernon!"

"What is it, son? What's happened? Did Mrs. Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?"

"Why are you covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the ground?"

"Hang on- you haven't been mugged, have you son?"

Aunt Petunia screamed. "Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Diddy, darling, speak to Mummy! What did they do to you?"

In all the kerfuffle, nobody seemed to have noticed Harry, which suited him perfectly. He managed to slip inside just before Uncle Vernon slammed the door, and while the Dursleys made their noisy progress down the hall toward the kitchen, Harry moved carefully and quietly toward the stairs.

"Who did it, son? Give us names. We'll get them, don't worry." Harry took a moment to consider the irony. When Dudley beat up kids and stole their lunch money, they didn't care, but as soon as their precious Diddykins was the one being beaten up? Then it was a crime worthy of death.

"Shh! He's trying to say something, Vernon! What is it, Diddy? Tell Mummy!"

Harry's foot was on the bottommost stair when Dudley found his voice.

"Him."

Harry froze, foot on the stair, face screwed up, braced for the explosion.

"BOY! COME HERE!"

With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harry removed his foot slowly from the stair and turned to follow the Dursleys.

The scrupulously clean kitchen had an oddly unreal glitter after the darkness outside. Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley into a chair; he was still very green and clammy looking. Uncle Vernon was standing in front of the draining board, glaring at Harry through tiny, narrowed eyes.

"What have you done to my son?" he said in a menacing grown. "I knew I shouldn't have let that Dimbledum loon in this house!"

"I didn't do anything!" Harry protested, knowing full well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him.

Uncle Vernon glared at him, a vein throbbing in his forehead. His eyes were red and full of hatred. Harry didn't recall ever seeing Uncle Vernon so angry before, and he took a hesitant step back.

Uncle Vernon closed the gap between them and grabbed the collar of Harry's shirt, pulling him forward until they almost butted heads. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SON, BOY! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" A shower of spit hit Harry directly in the face.

"It wasn't me! It was dementors!"

"Don't give me any of your nonsense, boy! Tell me what you did to my son so I can kill you!" He pulled tighter at Harry's shirt, and he started to choke.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia said, starting to look concerned. "Vernon, put the boy down! He can't talk, you're choking him."

Uncle Vernon turned his deranged gaze on his wife. "I need to know what he did to Dudley!"

"Vernon, let the boy go."

Uncle Vernon looked back at Harry. His face was starting to turn blue. Uncle Vernon scowled and released his grip, letting Harry fall to the ground.

Harry gasped, scrambling to his feet while rubbing at his neck. "It was dementors," he choked out again, glaring at his relatives. "I saved his life! Or his soul, at least."

"A couple of - what's this codswallop?"

"Dementors," said Harry slowly and clearly. "Two of them."

"Dementoids? But what ARE dementoids?" asked Uncle Vernon furiously. "What do they do? If you're just making up an excuse, boy…"

"They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban," said Aunt Petunia.

Uncle Vernon and Harry turned to stare at her. She clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs. Figgs was one thing- but Aunt Petunia?"

But before he could ask her about it, a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harry's feet, and turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden.

"OWLS!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, the well-worn vein in his temple pulsing angrily as he slammed the kitchen window shut. "NO MORE OWLS! I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!" He grabbed the envelope and stuffed it into his trouser pockets but not before Harry could read the words "Ministry of Magic" on it. Harry could feel his stomach falling out. He'd already had one official warning, and there was what happened with Aunt Marge...were they expelling him?

"It wasn't me, it was the Dementors," he protested again.

"Vernon, if it was actually Dementors…" Aunt Petunia said warningly.

Vernon was reminded of his wife's shocking knowledge. He opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third time and croaked, "so- so- they er- they- er they actually exist, do they- these dementy-whatsits?"

Aunt Petunia nodded.

It took a while to convince Uncle Vernon, and once he had heard what it was dementors did and that the wizard who had killed Harry's parents was back and was trying to kill him again, he tried to kick Harry out. In the middle of his yelling, a resounding crack filled the kitchen; Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon yelled and ducked, but for the third time that night, Harry was staring for the source of a disturbance he had not made. He spotted it at once: a dazed and ruffled-looking barn owl was sitting outside on the kitchen sill, having just collided with the closed window. Ignoring Uncle Vernon's anguished yell of "OWLS!" Harry crossed the room at a run and wrenched the window open again. The owl stuck out its leg, to which a small roll of parchment was tied, shook its feathers, and took off the moment Harry had pulled off the letter. Hands shaking, Harry unfurled the second message, which was written very hastily and blotchily in black ink.

_Harry-_

_Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry, and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND._

_Arthur Weasley_

Uncle Vernon seemed lost for words. All he could say was, "OUT. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, FREAK."

Harry stood rooted to the spot. The letter from Mr. Weasley was clutched in his hand. "DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE." The words from the letter blared across his mind.

"You heard me!" said Uncle Vernon, bending forward now, so that his massive purple face came closer to Harry's so that Harry actually felt flecks of spit hit his face. "Get going! Get out and never darken our doorstep again! Why we ever kept you in the first place I don't know; we were too soft for our own good, thought we could turn you normal, but you were rotten from the beginning and I've had enough- OWLS!"

The third owl of the night zoomed in the window. Harry tried to grab the letter, but it soared straight over him and at Aunt Petunia, who ducked and screamed. The owl dropped a scarlet red envelope on her head, turned and flew out the window, prompting Uncle Vernon to slam it shut again.

Aunt Petunia picked up the letter while Harry stared at her.

"You can open it if you like," said Harry, "but I'll hear what it says anyway. That's a howler."

Uncle Vernon protested and tried to convince her not to open it, but it was pointless anyway. The envelope burst into flames, and an awful voice filled the kitchen, echoing in the confined space, issuing from the burning letter on the floor.

"REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA."

Aunt Petunia didn't say anything about the howler. She only told Uncle Vernon, "The boy will have to stay." Vernon tried to protest, and Harry tried to question her about the sender of the howler, but she remained firm on both subjects.

Later that night, Harry received a letter from the Ministry informing him that his presence was requested at a disciplinary hearing. It made Harry feel slightly better. At least he hadn't been immediately expelled.

Harry spent the next three days locked in his room, leaving it only to go to the bathroom. Three times each day Aunt Petunia shoved food into his room through the cat flap Uncle Vernon had installed three summers ago. Otherwise the Dursleys kept well clear of his bedroom. Harry couldn't see the point of forcing his company on them; another row would achieve nothing except perhaps making him so angry he'd perform more illegal magic.

And tonight, the Dursleys weren't even in the house. They had gone out for the night, leaving Harry alone and locked up. Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned.

Surely they hadn't forgotten about him… it hadn't even been a week since Harry had seen Dumbledore… but aside from the one letter saying that Dumbledore was working on it and not to leave the house, he hadn't heard anything. Dumbledore had mentioned the possibility of Harry staying with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer, but that was before he had supposedly broken the Statute of Secrecy and probably been expelled. They probably didn't even care about him. They'd forgotten all about him.

The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.

And then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below.

He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard their car.

There was silence for a few seconds, and then he heard voices.

Voices too loud to be the Dursleys. He grabbed his wand from his bedside table and stood facing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. His first thought was that Voldemort had found him, but as he kept listening, he started to recognize some of the voices.

He jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.

Harry stood motionless, staring through the open door at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further snatches of their conversation. He hesitated for a moment and then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs. If it was who he thought it was, then he was finally getting out. But just in case, he kept his wand out.

There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.

"Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out," said a low, growling voice.

"Professor Moody?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"I don't know so much about 'Professor,'" growled the voice, 'never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly."

Harry lowered his wand but didn't relax his grip on it as he came down the stairs. Before he made it to the bottom of the stairs, Professor Lupin spoke up and reassured him.

The others introduced themselves and explained the plan to fly back to their headquarters. Harry was a little bit overwhelmed. He was still trying to wade through the lethargy he had been drowning in the past couple of days. Regardless, he still tried to get some information out of them about what Voldemort had been up to, but they were as evasive as Dumbledore had been.

"We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky," said Moody, continuing his argument for keeping Harry in the dark. He turned his normal eye on Harry; his magical eye remaining pointing up at the ceiling. He cursed angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye. "It keeps sticking- ever since that scum wore it-"

And with a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye and started cleaning it.

All of a sudden, Moody froze. "Alastor?" Lupin asked tersely. "Something's wrong," Moody said. He hurriedly popped his magical eye back in. It whirled wildly around, looking frantically around the room. Harry looked around as well. He didn't see anything outside of the ordinary; just the Dursleys' painfully clean kitchen. "There," Lupin said, pointing at the air in the middle of the room. Harry looked closer and could see a shimmering in the air.

"Potter, get out!" Moody yelled. "Tonks, take him to the other room. The rest of you, surround that." He pointed at the shimmering sphere of air. The group surrounded the cloud, wands raised defensively.

"C'mon, Harry," Tonks said. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the other room, quickly casting some defensive spells between them and the door.

Harry smiled cynically. It was death eaters, come to kill or kidnap him. He knew it. He had told Dumbledore that Voldemort didn't care that he was a child, he would kill him as soon as he had the chance. Dumbledore hadn't listened to him, and now all these other people were going to be caught up in it.

Harry couldn't let that happen. He gripped his wand, readying himself.

At that moment, there was an unintelligible roar, and Harry broke out of Tonk's grasp to run back into the living room. There, standing in the middle of the group, stood a disheveled man. He held an empty bottle over his head, as if ready to throw.

"Uncle Vernon?" Harry gasped.


	3. Chapter 3

Uncle Vernon caught sight of Harry and his eyes narrowed. "You!" He growled. He broke out of the circle of order members and charged at Harry, his arms raised. Harry had time to be uncomfortably reminded of when, a few days ago, his uncle had tried to strangle him before Vernon's meaty hands were once again wrapped around his throat. Harry reached up to grip Uncle Vernon's hands to try and loosen them.

There was a bang, and Vernon fell back.

"WHO ARE YOU?" Moody barked at him.

Uncle Vernon scrambled to his feet. He caught sight of Harry again and howled, "It's all Potter's fault! He was supposed to kill him!"

Uncle Vernon looked like he was about to charge Harry again, so Hestia Jones stepped between them. "Calm down, Mr. Dursley, we're just here to pick up your nephew," she tried to soothe him.

Uncle Vernon shoved her aside. "I don't know what you're doing here, Hestia," he growled, "but get out of my way."

She fell back from him in shock and Uncle Vernon charged at Harry again. This time, Lupin pulled him off.

"Mr. Dursley, please calm down!"

"Get away from me, mutt!" Uncle Vernon growled and shoved Lupin aside.

Moody had apparently had enough, because he stupefied the intruder with another bang. They all stared down at Vernon. "How did he know my name?" Hestia Jones finally asked.

"You've never met him before, right?" Shacklebolt asked.

"No," Hestia scowled. "And he called Remus a mutt? Almost as if he knew-" She gulped.

Moody directed his glare at Lupin, who shook his head. "I've never met him before. I've no idea if or how he knows I'm a werewolf." He folded his arms.

"That's not Uncle Vernon," Harry interrupted them, massaging his neck. While the others had been talking, he had been scrutinizing the intruder, and while he did look like Harry's uncle, there were noticeable differences, like two twins who had taken completely different life paths.

Lupin noticed his pain and healed the bruising. "What do you mean, Harry?"

"He does look kind of like Uncle Vernon, but he's not the same. He's not as big, and his face- he looks older. And I don't think Uncle Vernon has any scars." The man lying on the ground has multiple scars on his face and hands. "Not to mention the clothes. Uncle Vernon wouldn't be caught dead in clothes so dirty and ripped," Harry finished.

"An imposter, maybe?" Someone Harry didn't know asked. "Maybe it's a death eater trick. Maybe polyjuice?"

"If it were polyjuice," Moody growled, "then he'd look like the real Vernon Dursley." He began waving his wand and muttering, but Harry didn't recognize any of the spells he was using.

Harry stared down at his not-uncle. Whatever the spells Moody was casting were supposed to do, nothing was happening. The man couldn't be Vernon Dursley, but it looked like he wasn't under any disguise spells. The only time Harry could think of when someone was in two places at the same time was his third year...

"Nothing," Moody said finally, his magical eye focused on the Vernon look-alike. "We'll have to take him back with us for questioning."

"Take him to the Order headquarters?" Lupin asked doubtfully. "Are you sure you want to give him that much information?"

"Well, what else can we do, Lupin? A stranger who looks like Potter's uncle bursts in, attacks Potter," he gestured at Harry for emphasis, "and knows things about us that he shouldn't. It would be reprehensible for us to just ignore the red flags he's waving! He needs to be questioned!" He glared at the others with an angry eye. No one was willing to argue with him, so Kingsley levitated him into the air and grabbed onto the man's ankle and then apparated with him. Tonks was left behind to watch for the return of the Dursleys and to report on Vernon Dursley's whereabouts. The others all left on brooms.

On the flight to the Order's headquarters, Harry had time to wonder about the intruder who looked like Uncle Vernon. Normally the act of flying was enough to distract him from any problems or worries he had, but not tonight.

First Dumbledore had randomly showed up on Harry's doorstep, talking about rips in the fabric of time or whatever, then Harry had been attacked by dementors and almost been expelled, then Dumbledore's secret army had shown up to take Harry somewhere else, and then, to top it all off, someone who looked like and older and more beat-up version of Uncle Vernon had stumbled out of literally nowhere.

It was not what Harry had planned for his summer vacation.

"Time to start the descent!" came Lupin's voice, shaking Harry out of his thoughts. "Follow Hestia, Harry!"

Harry followed Hestia into a dive. Lower and lower they flew, until Harry could see individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys, and television aerials.

Harry touched down behind Hestia and dismounted on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. Harry looked around at the grimy and unkempt houses.

"Where are we?" he asked. He'd gotten all turned around in the flight there, with all of the tactical loops and circling around Moody had led them on, and for all he knew they had just flown in a big circle for an hour and were back at Privet Drive.

"In a minute," Lupin said quietly.

"Come on, quick," Moody growled. He took Harry by the arm and led him from the patch of grass and across the road.

"Here," Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment toward Harry's hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. "Read quickly and memorize."

Harry looked down.

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

Harry looked up at the houses they were facing. They were standing outside number eleven. He looked to the left and saw number ten. To the right, however, was number thirteen.

No number twelve in sight.

He frowned, thinking about what he'd read and briefly wondering how the headquarters was supposed to be at number twelve when there was no number twelve when a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way.

Soon Harry was following the others into the house, stepping over the threshold and into the almost total darkness of the hall.

"Keep your voice down in the hall, Harry," Lupin said.

"Why?" Harry asked in a whisper. He followed the others out of the hall, past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains

"We don't want to wake anything up," That comment left Harry even more on edge, but he stayed silent until they had entered what looked like the dining room.

They were greeted by Kingsley.

"Report!" Moody barked at him. "The intruder?"

"He's upstairs in one of the bedrooms," Kingsley said. "The door is warded and locked." Moody's magical eye immediately swiveled up to stare through the ceiling at where Harry assumed the fake Uncle Vernon was.

"Still unconscious?" Moody asked.

Kingsley nodded. "And restrained as well. I've gathered the order members I could get in contact with at such short notice. They're in the basement kitchen. Dumbledore's on his way."

"Good," Moody nodded.

Mrs. Weasley walked into the room. "Harry!" she cried, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug. "It's so lovely to see you!" She held him at arm's length and examined him critically. "You're looking peaky. You need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit longer for dinner, I'm afraid."

"Molly," Lupin called out, gesturing to the door.

Harry realized that the wizards behind him were moving to the door through which Mrs. Weasley had just come. Harry made to follow them, but Mrs. Weasley held him back.

"No, Harry, the meeting's only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs; you can wait with them until the meeting's over and then we'll have dinner."

"What!" Harry said. "What are you going to be talking about in that meeting?" He looked past Mrs. Weasley to where Lupin still stood with the door open.

"Oh, you know," Mrs. Weasley said nervously, wringing her hands. "This and that."

"Is it about the fake Uncle Vernon? Because if so, I think it would concern me quite a bit."

"Harry, if there's anything you need to know, we can tell you about it after the meeting. Right now we just need to update the others on what happened and start trying to figure out why it happened," Lupin said.

"But what if I can help you with the why? He is my uncle, anyway. I could know something that could help," Harry protested.

Lupin hesitated. Mrs. Weasley sensed his hesitation and jumped in. "Harry, dear, the meeting's only for Order members. The other children haven't been able to participate either. No one underage. That's the rule. It's for your own safety."

"But Dumbledore said-"

"It's Dumbledore's rule."

At that moment, Sirius poked his head out of the door under Lupin's arm. "What's taking you lot so-" He caught sight of Harry.

"Harry! You made it!" Despite his cheerful tone, there were lines on his face that hadn't been there the last time Harry had seen him. It concerned Harry. He had expected the regular food and sleep to have improved Sirius' health, and while he had filled out a bit more, his face was full of bitterness.

"Yeah," Harry said, answering his godfather's statement. "I made it. But now they're saying that I can't come into the meeting! The meeting that will probably be at least partially about me!"

Sirius glanced at Lupin, who shrugged.

"He's too young; he's not in the Order!" Mrs. Weasley protested.

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to know what's going to happen to them?" asked Sirius. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month, and then some intruder who looks like his uncle but isn't appears just as the Order shows up to rescue him. He's got a right to know what's going on!"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. Her normally kind face looked dangerous. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

Harry got the impression that Mrs. Weasley did not care for Sirius.

"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, but with an air as though readying himself for a fight.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know," said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.

Harry frowned. Dumbledore had promised him that he would keep Harry informed, but it seemed he had already forgotten that.

Sirius and Mrs. Weasley were still arguing.

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" said Mrs. Weasley. "He's only fifteen and-"

"-and he's dealt with more than most in the Order," said Sirius.

But Harry had had enough. He marched past the two, ducking under Lupin's arm and through the door. He gave Lupin a look, daring him to say something.

Harry found himself in a narrow, dark stairway. He went down the stairs, following the sounds of voices into the basement kitchen.

It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above; a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. The fireplace must not have been very well ventilated, because a haze of smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of the room. Mr. Weasley and his oldest son, Bill, were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table. The ones who had been part of the advance guard were just arriving.

Bill caught sight of Harry standing in the doorway. "Journey all right, Harry?" he asked. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland then?"

"He tried," said Kingsley. He pulled a chair out and sat down.

"I hear you had a bit of excitement," Arthur said, watching Kingsley, who nodded. "You'll hear all about it in the meeting."

Harry's mouth tightened. Any minute now, someone was going to ask him what he was doing in the room. But he wouldn't let them kick him out. Defiantly, he pulled out a chair like Kingsley had and sat down.

Mr. Weasley sputtered. "Uh, Harry, we're about to have an Order Meeting in here."

Harry nodded. "I know."

Mr. Weasley eyed him hesitantly. "Uh-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley," Harry said. "But I'm not leaving."

Mrs. Weasley came down the stairs, followed by Lupin. She was flustered.

"Harry, dear, you really shouldn't be here," she said.

Harry was about to respond when Lupin spoke up. "Molly, why not just wait until Dumbledore gets here. Harry can ask him if he can stay, and I'm sure he will listen if Dumbledore says no." He stared at Harry, conveying with his eyes that he should agree.

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley. If Dumbledore doesn't want me here, then I'll go. I promise." He tried to make his voice as innocent and guileless as possible.

It was enough to calm Mrs. Weasley down, and she began making idle chit-chat with him; asking how his summer was going, and whether or not he had started on his summer assignments.

Moody walked into the room. Immediately, some of the Order members that Harry didn't know yet greeted him and asked what the emergency meeting was about. Moody waved them off, saying he'd let them know once Dumbledore got there.

He caught sight of Harry and raised an inquisitive, grizzled eyebrow. "What's Potter doing here?" he asked the room. No one answered him at first, until Mr. Weasley answered. "He wants to be involved in the meeting. We were waiting for Dumbledore to arrive so he can decide if Harry can stay for the meeting or not."

"You want to be involved?" Moody asked Harry. "Good for you. Finally, someone here who has some gumption!"

Most of the people in the room seemed to be resisting the urge to roll their eyes. "Moody, just because we're not crazy like you doesn't mean we don't have gumption," Hestia said. She seemed to be repeating an argument that had been repeated often.

Snape, who was apparently also in the Order, was the next person to show up. He sat down without looking at or greeting anyone, and subsequently didn't notice that Harry was there until he had already sat down.

He narrowed his eyes spitefully at Harry. "What-"

"Good of you to join us, Snape," Moody interrupted smoothly. Snape shifted his glare to Moody. "What's Potter doing here?" he asked. The disdain in his voice was clear. "He's not supposed to be here."

"That's not for you to decide. It's Dumbledore's decision," Harry said. He glared back at Snape, who returned the disdainful stare. "Why in Merlin's name would we want a lunatic here?"

"What- why would you- I'm not a-" Harry sputtered.

Snape smirked. "Haven't you been reading the Daily Prophet?"

"Yes, I have!" said Harry. "What does the Prophet have to do with anything?"

"Are you quite sure you've been reading it?" Thoroughly?"

"Well- I- Not cover to cover," said Harry defensively. "If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it!"

Snape's instinctive flinch at the sound of the name seemed to fuel his ire. "Do you mean to tell me, Potter, that you haven't been keeping up with the public opinion?"

"What do you mean?!"

Snape opened his mouth to respond but Mr. Weasley beat him to it. "You'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they- um- they mention you a couple times a week."

"What?" Harry asked. "But I'd have seen-"

"Er- not if you've only been reading the front page," said Mr. Weasley, looking embarrassed. "It's never big articles, they just kind of...mention you every now and then."

"Your hero worship has ended," Snape said, looking gleeful. "The public has finally realized that you are a deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero. They mention you all the time. If some far-fetched story appears they say something like 'a tale worthy of Harry Potter' and if anyone has a funny accident or anything, 'let's hope they don't have a scar on their forehead, or we'll be asked to worship them too-"

"I don't want anyone to worship me!" Harry said hotly.

"If you ask me, the Prophet's finally gotten their act together and has started putting out a higher caliber of articles," Snape finished smugly.

"I didn't ask- I didn't want- that's not what I'm like!" Harry spluttered. "Why are they-"

"They want to turn you into someone no one else will believe, Harry," Lupin interrupted. "Fudge is behind it, along with his closest political allies. They want wizards on the street to think you're just an immature boy who makes up stories, because if people believe that about you, then they certainly won't believe you when you say that Voldemort is back."

"And that, boy, is why you should never trust the government," Moody said, nodding resolutely.

"Oh, come of it, Alastor!" Mcgonagall said. "You used to work for the government!"

"Exactly! I'd know it better than anyone else!"

Harry was still trying to process the smear campaign that Fudge was apparently leading against him when Dumbledore walked into the room and silenced all of the discord.

"Albus!" McGonagall cried. "What has happened? I was summoned here in the middle of the day! I have things I need to do to prepare for the upcoming school year."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid that I do not know, Minerva. I, too, was summoned here. I received a patronus from Alastor, saying that something had happened that needed my attention and that an emergency meeting had been called." He looked over to where Moody stood at the head of the table. "Alastor?"

"Albus!" Mrs. Weasley cried, cutting off whatever Moody had been about to say. "Sirius is insisting the Harry stay for the meeting!"

Dumbledore sat down at the head of the table and folded his hands in the purple velvet sleeves of his robe, avoiding eye contact with Harry.

"Sirius?" Dumbledore asked, looking at Sirius.

Sirius repeated his argument of Harry being old enough, having more experience than most of the others in the Order, and being the only one who knew Vernon Dursley.

"Interesting," Dumbledore said. He finally looked at Harry for the first time since entering the room. Harry stared at him, trying to convey through his glare that he hadn't forgotten what Dumbledore had promised him less than a week ago and if Dumbledore didn't keep his promise, Harry would find some other way to listen in to the meeting. Dumbledore broke eye contact with Harry and stared down at the table, frowning.

He looked up. "Harry stays." He staved off the objections with a raised hand. "But only for the discussions about the events of today."

Harry started to object, but Dumbledore cut him off as well. "It is nothing personal, my boy. No one underage is allowed in any of our meetings. An exception is being made just this once, because you are the only one here who knows Vernon Dursley personally. If anything is discussed in our normally scheduled meetings that you need to know, than you will of course be informed."

Harry sat back in his chair, relaxing his tense shoulders. He gave Snape a smirk. It wasn't everything he wanted; ideally he would liked to be included in all of the meetings, but at least Dumbledore remembered what they had discussed and was trying to keep his vague promise.

"Thank you, sir," he said, nodding at Dumbledore.

"Now that that is decided," Dumbledore said, "Alastor, I believe everyone is here who could make it on such short notice. Since you were the one to request this emergency meeting, why don't you tell everyone what happened."

Moody gave his report, which was gruff and succinct. After he finished, a heavy silence hung in the air as everyone digested Moody's report.

The silence was broken by the front door upstairs opening and someone stumbling in. Moody's eye spun around in its socket to stare up at the ceiling. "Tonks!" he yelled. "Get down here and give us your report!"

Tonks stumbled down the stairs and into the basement kitchen. "Wotcher," she said, looking around the room at everybody who was there.

"Nymphadora?" Dumbledore asked her. "What news do you have about our visitor?"

She shook her head. "The real Vernon Dursley arrived home with his wife and son. And I did all the spells, he's not under any disguise. The real Vernon Dursley is at his house, with his family. He was a bit upset when he realized that Harry was gone," she looked uncomfortable, "but there wasn't anything suspicious about him at all."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Interesting. The Vernon Dursley at Number 4 Privet Drive is the real Dursley." He raised a questioning eyebrow at Tonks. She nodded in confirmation.

He turned to Moody. "And yet, the Vernon Dursley upstairs is the real one." Moody scowled as if he were taking the contradiction personally. "Yeah. I hit him with all the detection spells I could. He's not under any spells at all. He is who he appears to be."

"Hmm," Dumbledore hummed, deep in thought. His eyes gazed off into the distance before snapping back to Moody. "Did you use an age detection charm?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry thought he knew where this was going. The only explanation he could think of for someone to be in two different places at the same time was time travel. He had experienced it himself, although at first he had thought he was seeing his dad. But if Dumbledore was asking about the age of the Uncle Vernon tied up in one of the bedrooms upstairs, then maybe he was thinking the same thing Harry was.

Moody didn't seem to agree with Harry's theory. "No," he said simply, staring at Dumbledore with his good eye while the other spun around. "Why on earth would I do that?"

Dumbledore shrugged innocently. "Just a theory I have." Moody seemed to shrug and move on, describing the spells he had used on Dursley to remove any possible magical disguises.

Harry caught Dumbledore's eyes. There was no way this wasn't related to when Dumbledore had showed up at 4 Privet Drive investigating a possible tear in the fabric of time. Had he told the others about it? Considering how hesitant they were to consider the idea of time travel, probably not. But why was Dumbledore keeping it a secret then?

Harry realized that Moody had asked a question and focused back on the conversation.

"Why don't you tell me your theories, first," Dumbledore was saying to the room at large. "I'd like to hear everyone's opinions.

"He's a spy, obviously," Snape said.

"Yes, obviously. Spies are normally brainless whales, are they?" Sirius said.

Snape glared at him as he continued talking. "There's no other explanation. A stranger who looks like Potter's beloved muggle uncle appears in Potter's home? It's definitely a spying attempt, and a bad one at that. They undoubtedly expect Potter to be an idiot and take the spy into his house."

"But is he a spy from You-Know-Who, or the ministry?" Kingsley asked.

But why would the ministry try to spy on me? Harry wondered. He remembered the way Fudge had acted and how he had refused to believe that Voldemort was back. He knew the ministry didn't want to admit that Voldemort was back, and now they had their smear campaign, but surely they wouldn't go so far as to send spies.

Snape pursed his lips. "I would say the ministry. I haven't heard anything from the Dark Lord about any new spies, and the Dark Lord is more...subtle then this. It matches the incompetence of the ministry."

"Voldemort doesn't need a new spy, he has you, right, Snivellus?" Sirius said cuttingly.

Snape growled. "Black, do you have a purpose in this meeting other than insipid insults directed at your betters?"

"You want my theory, Snape? All right, I'll tell you my theory. I think someone tried to transfigure a whale into a man, messed up, and thought it would be funny to give the transfigured whale to the Boy-Who-Lived as a present."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Sirius," Lupin warned. Sirius shrugged. "What? He asked for my opinion. I gave it to him. My brilliance has just stunned him."

"I agree with Snape," Moody said. "He's obviously a spy, or a trap, but I don't think it's as cut and dry as that. Based on how he acted at Privet Drive before he was stunned, he's not a normal death eater, or a normal ministry spy. He didn't have a wand and reacted to our spells with surprise."

"Well, he was pretending to be a muggle. It makes sense that he would pretend to be unfamiliar with magic."

"Then why did he recognize Jones and Lupin?" Moody asked triumphantly. "If we agree that he is a spy, then it would make no sense for him to recognize them and call Hestia by name. Unless he is a wizard who is familiar with at least some of us, disguised as Vernon Dursley, and was somehow confounded?" He shrugged. "It doesn't make any sense."

Dumbledore stirred. "You're forgetting, he wasn't under any disguises. You said it yourself." Moody tried to say something but Dumbledore held up his hand. "What was it that he said to you, again?"

"He recognized Hestia, called her by name. He seemed to recognize Lupin as well. Called him a mut," answered Moody.

Dumbledore nodded. "Interesting." He looked at the Order over steepled fingers.

"Albus?" Moody asked. "Who do you think he is?"

Dumbledore ignored the question, turning instead to Harry. "Harry?" he asked. "What do you think?"

A few looked like they wanted to object to Harry speaking in the meeting, but they didn't say anything.

It hadn't taken long for Harry's mind to turn to time travel. It was the only way that he had ever heard of someone existing in two places at the same time. Could a time turner bring someone back years?"

"Time travel?" he asked.

Snape immediately snorted. "That's what you get for asking a child, Albus."

"Harry, dear, time travel like that is impossible," Mrs. Weasley said gently. "No one can travel back more than five hours."

"But-" Harry began to defend himself, but he was interrupted by Sirius.

"It is possible, though. I've heard a few things," he said seriously.

"Drunken ramblings of your friends are not trustworthy," Snape snapped at him.

Sirius glared at him. "They weren't drunk, and they were aurors, years ago." Sirius slumped down in his seat, somehow reminding Harry of one of the rebellious teenagers who hung out at the park. "There was a case, where some crazy old loon tried to travel back in time a couple of years."

"I remember that," said Moody. "But no one knows if he made it back, or if he blew himself up in the explosion that destroyed his house."

There was silence.

"He could have made it," Sirius defended himself.

"There were human remains found in the ash," Moody said flatly.

"Regardless," Sirius said. "Who's to say that, in the future, someone doesn't figure out how to time travel?"

"But it's just not possible." This time it was McGonagall who objected. "Yes, there are time turners, but they are only able to go back a few hours. And more than five at the most, and it becomes too dangerous."

"And how would a muggle even find a time turner?" Kingsley asked. "You're sure it was actually him?" The question was directed at Moody, who glared back at the questioner.

"Are you doubting me? He is who he appears to be. I'm not saying that he's Vernon Dursley for sure, he could just be a random muggle picked off the street who happens to look like an older Dursley, but there are no spells disguising his appearance."

Harry spoke into the silence after Moody finished talking. "It would explain why he's an Uncle Vernon who looks a few years older. It would also explain why he recognized me. I don't know why he also recognize some of the others who were there, but…And also-" Harry looked over to Dumbledore. "Dumbledore said earlier-"

"Personally, I am inclined to agree with Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, cutting off what Harry had been about to say.

Dumbledore was definitely hiding the tear in the fabric of time from the others, Harry thought. The question was still why.

Dumbledore continued. "There may be another explanation that I have missed, but I don't think it likely."

"But how could he have traveled back in time? And why?" Lupin asked.

"I suppose we could always ask him," Dumbledore said. "Thank you for your input, but I think the quickest way to find out who our visitor is would be to talk to him. Has anyone spoken to him at all?"

Moody's eye swiveled to peer at the ceiling. "He's still out cold from the stunning spell."

Dumbledore stood. "Then perhaps it's time for us to wake him. Alastor, Severus. Please join me."

"Why does Snivellus get to go?" Sirius muttered. Everyone ignored him, except for Snape, who smirked at him as he left the room after Dumbledore.

Harry watched them leave the room before turning to Sirius. "What is this place?" he asked, looking around the basement kitchen. The array of cooking materials hanging from the ceiling along with the dark lighting and gloomy atmosphere reminded Harry of a torture chamber. "It looks like some crazy dark wizard's house."

Sirius laughed bitterly. "Well, you're right on one of those. This is my house."

"Your house?"

"It was my parents' house. I never wanted it, but I'm the last of the Blacks, so it's mine now." Sirius looked darkly around the room. Harry thought that Sirius also probably saw the room as a torture chamber. "I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters- about the only useful thing I've been able to do."

"You haven't been doing any missions for the Order?"

Sirius snorted. "Course not. I've been stuck inside for a month." He scowled and slumped in his chair.

"How come?" asked Harry frowning.

"Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Wormtail will have told Voldemort all about me being an animagus by now, so that disguise is useless. There's not much else I can do...or so Dumbledore feels."

"At least you know what's been going on," Harry said bracingly.

"Oh yeah," said Sirius sarcastically. "Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sitting on my backside here having a nice comfortable time, asking me how the cleaning's going-"

"What cleaning?"

"Trying to make this place fit for human habitation," said Sirius, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. "No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist, hasn't cleaned in ages-"

"Sirius?" said Mrs. Weasley, looking at Harry with pursed lips. Harry got the impression that she still disapproved strongly of him having been at the meeting, but she didn't say anything else about it. Once Dumbledore had made a decision, it seems like that was the end of it.

"I thought Harry would like to see where he'll be staying."

"Sure, sure," Sirius said casually, waving a hand of dismissal. "Go see your cell, Harry. I'll still be here when you get back."

Harry left hesitantly. Sirius didn't seem to have improved in mental state since the last time Harry had seen him. He even seemed to have worsened. Harry was loath to leave him, but Sirius had already started talking to Lupin next to him, and Mrs. Weasley was waiting, so Harry followed her out of the room.

She led him out of the basement kitchen and up the stairs to the ground floor, where they started up another dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. A closer look showed Harry that the heads belonged to house-elves. He couldn't help but feel sorry for Sirius, having to come back to the house that he had hated. He knew how he would feel if forced, when he was grown up and thought he was free of the place forever, to return and live at number four, Privet Drive.

"Mrs. Weasley, where-?"

"Ron and Hermione will explain some more, dear, I've really got to dash," Mrs. Weasley whispered distractedly. "There-" they had reached the second landing. "You're the door on the right. I'll call you when it's time for dinner."

And she hurried off downstairs again.

Harry crossed the dingy landing, turned the bedroom doorknob, which was shaped like a serpent's head, and opened the door.

He caught a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged room with twin beds before he was bombarded by Hermione, Ron, with Ron's tiny owl Pigwidgeon zooming excitedly round and round their heads.

Immediately, Hermione started nattering on about how much she had missed Harry, and how sorry she was that she couldn't say anything to him in her letters, and what had happened with the dementors?

"Let him breathe, Hermione," said Ron, grinning, closing the door behind Harry.

Hermione, beaming, let go of Harry, but before she could say another word there was a soft whooshing sound and something white soared from the top of a dark wardrobe and landed gently on Harry's shoulder.

"Hedwig!" Harry cried, reaching up to run a gentle finger along her feathers.

"She's been in a right state," said Ron. "Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters. Mum had to heal the cuts, they were so deep."

"Oh yeah," Harry said. "Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know…" He shrugged guiltily. He did feel bad about it now, but when he had sent Hedwig off, he had desperately wanted the answers that he knew his friends had.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, wringing her hands. "We wanted to tell you what was going on, but Dumbledore made us promise-"

"Not to tell me anything?" Harry finished.

There was silence.

"Well...yes," Hermione said. "He seemed to think it was best. And we figured he'd know what was best…" she trailed off after she saw the expression on Harry face.

"You mean you figured he'd know better than I would? That he'd know what I was feeling, and what I was going through, and what I needed to know?" Harry could feel his voice start to grow in volume, but it sounded like it was coming from far away.

"Well, yeah," Ron said, not realizing how angry Harry was growing. "Dumbledore has the big picture. He knows everything that's going on, so of course he'd know what was right."

"EXACTLY!" Harry shouted. Ron winced away from him, the surprise showing in his face. "DUMBLEDORE KNOWS WHAT'S GOING ON AND I DON'T!"

Every bitter and resentful thought that Harry had had in the past month was pouring into his mind. He had tried to avoid thinking about it, but now thoughts about his family, his friends, Voldemort, Snape, the Prophet calling him a liar- all the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst through their boundaries, and the force and the anger behind them scared him, but it was too late to calm down.

"ISN'T IT MY LIFE?" he yelled at his friends. They both looked ashamed, and Hermione was close to tears. "AFTER EVERYTHING I'VE DONE- THE SORCERER'S STONE, THE BASILISK, AND NOW DEMENTORS? DID DUMBLEDORE THINK I WAS SOMEHOW INCAPABLE, AFTER ALL THAT?"

"Harry, we're really sorry!" Hermione said desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. "You're absolutely right, Harry- I'd be furious if it was me!"

Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. He couldn't look at Hermione, couldn't see her crying. He hadn't meant to lose his temper and make Hermione cry, but he'd been so upset that they'd kept things from him…

There was a long pause, broken only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet before he turned back to them.

"What is this place, anyway?" he asked Ron and Hermione tightly. "Sirius said it's his?"

Ron jumped forward with an answer. "Well, yeah, Sirius owns it, but right now it's the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Right," Harry said. The mysterious Order that everyone had been mentioning practically every other sentence. "And the Order is…?"

"A secret society," Hermione said quietly, not quite managing to look Harry in the eyes. Harry tried to shake of the remnants of guilt for making her cry. "Dumbledore's in charge," Hermione continued. "He founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time."

They continued talking about who was in the Order and what Ron and Hermione knew about what the Order had planned, which wasn't very much, and then the topic was changed.

"So what happened?" Ron asked. "We heard part of what Kingsley said when he arrived. Did your uncle really travel through time just to strangle you?"

Harry winced. He wished Kingsley hadn't mentioned that the other Uncle Vernon had tried to strangle Harry. "How did you hear what Kingsley said?' he asked, avoiding the questions.

Ron smirked. "Extendable ears," he said, holding up a long, flesh-coloured string. Harry blinked. "...That means nothing to me."

"It's something Fred and George came up with," Hermione said. A look of reproach was on her face. "You stick one end in your ear, and then the other end where the discussion is going on that you want to overhear. They're used to eavesdrop on things that one isn't meant to know."

"Oh, stuff it, Hermione, if you disapprove of it so much then why do you use them?"

Hermione blushed. "Because I want to know what's going on!"

"Exactly," Ron said. "That's why it's such a great invention," he said to Harry. "If even Hermione uses them, then everyone will want them."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "So did it happen like Kingsley said?" she asked Harry. "You were just standing around, talking, and then the air shimmered, or whatever, and he just appeared?"

"Actually, it started about a week before," Harry said. "Dumbledore didn't tell anyone about it in the meeting, but he actually showed up at Privet Drive a week ago."

"What?" Hermione gasped. "What for? What did he say?"

Harry shrugged. "He didn't tell me much; said that it had to do with arithmancy and runes and it would go over my head, but turns out he has some spells set up to monitor the Dursleys' house."

Hermione nodded. "Of course. It only makes sense," she muttered to herself. "And did one of the spells register something?"

"Yeah. He said it was something to do with time. That there was a possible tear in the fabric of time?"

Now it was Ron's turn to gasp.

"Ron?" Harry asked.

"I've heard of that before!" Ron exclaimed. "It was some story that Bill told us. There was a town up north, and stuff kept disappearing. Like, things, and animals, and then people started disappearing. The muggles started investigating it, but then the Ministry caught wind of it and sent a bunch of aurors and unspeakables there, and turns out, there was a tear in time, and things kept falling through the hole."

"And what, they time traveled? And appeared in another time?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think they ever figured out where everything went, or where the hole came from."

Harry was deep in thought. "Do you think someone could tear a hole in time intentionally?"

Ron shrugged again. "I have no idea."

* * *

**Portions of this were taken and adapted from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix._**


	4. Chapter 4

In another room in the house, Dumbledore, Moody, Snape, and McGonagall crowded around the bed where Vernon Dursley's porcine body had been dumped.

"Doesn't miss out on any meals, does he," Moody muttered.

"Actually, I do believe he's lost weight," said Dumbledore cheerfully.

"He's gone through some hard times. Look at those shadows beneath his eyes. And he's so pale," Snape pointed out.

"Yes, that's what Potter said when he first saw him," Moody said.

Snape scowled at the thought of agreeing with Potter. "Albus, do you seriously believe that he's a _time traveler?"_

"Yes," Dumbledore said sanguinely. "Why not?"

"Because- because it's just impossible!" Snape sputtered.

"How do you know?" Dumbledore asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Because- because-" Snape whirled to face Moody. "What do you think about all this?"

Moody shrugged. "If Albus thinks time travel is a possibility, then I'm willing to keep my mind open."

"And that's all that I ask you to do," Dumbledore said. "Keep your mind open about the possibilities, and I will keep mine open about your suggestions. But for now, I will be going into this discussion with the assumption that Vernon Dursley is a time traveler. Let me take the lead."

Snape appeared about to protest. Dumbledore held up a hand. "Just at first. Then, I promise, Severus, you and Alastor will have your chance to ask questions." He waited for Snape to give a jerky nod in agreement before turning to Moody.

"Alastor?" Dumbledore said. "Would you do the honors?" He gestured at the body. Moody scowled, but he rennervated the intruder. The intruder slowly blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the sudden light. He suddenly shot up, staring at the others in the room.

"Who are you?" he asked hoarsely, running a hand over his face.

"I am Albus Dumbledore," the headmaster said genially, "Headmaster of Hogwarts. Might I inquire after your name?"

"No, you're not," the intruder growled.

"I'm sorry?" Dumbledore asked.

"You've not Dumbledore. You can't be; he's dead," the intruder sneered at him. "What, you think just because I'm a muggle, I won't know what's up?"

"Is that a threat?" Snape growled. He leaned forward threateningly.

"It's a fact," was the blunt response. "He's dead. So are you."

Snape pulled back in surprise.

"Yeah, that's right," Dursley scoffed. "I know who you're pretending to be. Severus Snape, the traitor. You betrayed them all, everyone who ever cared for you." Dursley watched his last strike hit home and smirked. "That's right. You can't get one over me, you _death eater_!"

Snape flinched violently away, his left arm folded into his body. "_Muggle filth, _you don't know what you're talking about! You think because you know my _name_, that you know who I am? You don't know anything about me!" He leaned forward now, trying to intimidate the muggle by invading his personal space.

"Severus," Dumbledore said. Snape pulled back reluctantly. Dumbledore conjured up an armchair and sat down.

"Should I assume that you are Vernon Dursley, then? You do bear a resemblance to him."

"Why're you acting so uppity? You _know_ who I am; you were in my home waiting for me. Well, your trap worked, you've got me!" He spread his arms wide. "What're you gonna do about it now?"

"Why would we want to capture you?"

The intruder snorted. "Is that a joke? 'Cause of the freak, that's why. You think that because he was my wife's nephew, that you can use me as bait and he'll actually _care_ what happens to me? I guess you really are as dumb as you look. _He doesn't care!_" He yelled the last sentence at them. "We took him in out of the goodness of our hearts, we raised him, gave him food and a place to live, and the freak repaid us by pulling us into your little freak war, _and now they're dead!"_ Dursley's face was flushed and his breathing erratic.

Dumbledore observed him calmly. "Interesting. Mr. Dursley, I believe you have the wrong impression. We are not death eaters. We did not set a trap for you, and we do not intend to try and use you as bait for anyone."

Dursley scoffed at that, but Dumbledore continued. "However, I am very interested in what happened to you."

"What do you mean, what happened to me, you-"

"Mr. Dursley, today is the sixth of August, in the year 1995."

Dursley stopped speechless, his mouth open.

"Albus, are you sure it is wise-" Moody asked quietly, leaning forward. Dumbledore nodded. "Overall, I believe in being honest whenever possible. And we need his trust. We need to know what happened."

"Ok," Dursley said, his beady eyes intent on Dumbledore. "Suppose I believe what you are saying. That this is the past and I'm stuck here, like in that horrid old telly show. How did I get here?"

Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that I have no idea. Members of the Order encountered you at your home- that is, the Vernon Dursley of this time's home, and you attacked them. They stunned you and then brought you here. I was rather hoping that you would have an idea what happened."

Dursley's eyes were calculating. "I might. What's in it for me?"

"You mentioned that someone was dead." Dursley flinched. "Yeah?"

"How did it happen?"

"Why do you want to know?" He held up a hand quickly to cut Dumbledore off. "And don't say it's just because you want to help me. Why do you want to know?"

"Because by all appearances, you are from the future. A future where things do not seem to have turned out the way I would hope."

"What do you hope for? That everyone will be happy, and we'll all dance around the maypole while holding hands with Voldemort?" Dursley laughed at Snape's flinch.

"I have to admit, that would be nice. But tell me," Dumbledore leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees as he caught Dursley's crazy eyes with his own earnest ones, "where did my plan go wrong? Do you know? I can save your family, if you just let me know what happened. What is going to happen between now and the time you came from to turn you into who you are know?"

"You want me to tell you where you went wrong. Well, I'll tell you where you went wrong. You trusted the wrong people, and it got you killed."

"I die, then?"

"Yes, and don't you want to know how?" He chortled.

"Actually, no. Death comes to all of us, and I have lived a long life. I have long felt ready to leave this world." Snape glanced sideways at Dumbledore, noting the weary sadness in his eyes.

Dursley shook his head. "Barmy, is what you are. You don't want to know who kills you? Who you shouldn't have trusted?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. Dursley kept looking at him and smirking, as if he knew something about him.

Dumbledore hesitated. Even he had noticed the way Dursley was looking at Snape. "If it will stop the war, then yes."

Dursley laughed. "Why should I tell you?"

Moody growled. "See here, Dursley, don't you want your family alive? Then help us out and tell us who betrays us!"

There was a silence while Dursley pretended to think, but then Dursley suddenly flinched, jumped to his feet, and punched Snape in the nose, knocking him to the ground.

"Get out of my head!" he hissed. "I know who you are. What you did," Dursley growled menacingly. "You deserve nothing less than _death. It was all your fault!"_ He stood with clenched hands over Snape, who was clutching his nose, trying to quench the flow of blood.

There was a bang and Dursley flew back onto the bed.

"What is this!" Dumbledore thundered.

"Didn't you see it!" Snape cried, stumbling to his feet. "He attacked me!"

"He started it!" Dursley cried. He crawled to the side of the bed and tried to stand up. "He tried to legilimize me!"

Snape spluttered in shock. "What! How would you even know what legilimency is, muggle?"

"Severus, did you?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape looked from Dumbledore to Moody for help. Moody shrugged and didn't say anything.

"Severus," Dumbledore warned again. Dursley had a look of glee on his face.

"He wasn't going to tell us anything!" Snape defended himself. "I saw it in his mind before he attacked me!"

"Severus, using legilimency on an unwilling victim is illegal!"

"You were fine with it when I used it on-"

"Severus-"

"And anyway, it's only illegal to use it on unwilling wizards or witches. _Muggles_ are completely fine."

"Something doesn't have to be illegal for it to still be morally wrong."

"What did you find out?" Moody asked. Dumbledore gave him an affronted look.

Moody shrugged, "He's right about the law; technically he didn't do anything wrong. And morals aside, we need to know what You-Know-Who's up to."

"Nothing. I got nothing from him. Didn't even manage to see any surface thoughts besides the fact that he doesn't want to tell us anything."

Dursley laughed. "That's right, and you never will find anything, anyway. I don't trust you, with your talk of time travel. That's impossible. Even I know that."

"His mind was shielded," Snape grumbled. "Not the best shielding I've ever seen, but still competent."

"Anyone can do it," said Dursley. "Don't even have to have any magic at all." There was smug satisfaction in his voice. "And I don't know what your plan is, or why I'm here, but I do know one thing." He waited.

"What's that?" Dumbledore asked.

"I will never help you," Dursley said smugly.

"Never?" Dumbledore repeated softly.

"Are you deaf, old man? That's what I said. NEVER."

Dumbledore gazed at him for a long while, then stood up. "Very well. Alastor, Severus: come."

"Wait, what about me?" Dursley said in indignation. Dumbledore turned around. "What about you?"

"Are you just going to leave me here?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "Quite frankly, there is nothing else we can do. You refuse to help us. You don't believe us that you have traveled back in time. We cannot trust you. I would rather not kill you, but we can't let you run free. What other choices do we have?"

Dursley was struck speechless. "You mean you're going to keep me locked up in here for the rest of my life?"

Dumbledore nodded. "That is exactly what I mean."

As Dursley watched the three wizards leave the room, he muttered: "I _knew_ you lot were death eaters."

In the hallway, after the door had been shut behind Moody, Snape cast a quick spell at the door so Dursley wouldn't overhear them, then burst out, "You're just leaving him alone?!"

Dumbledore shrugged. "If he won't tell us anything, then there's not much we can do."

"Not much-" Snape spluttered. "Albus, someday you will have to acknowledge that your way of treating everyone with kid gloves won't get you anywhere. We are at war, and you seem to think that that pig has knowledge that can help us. Don't just wait for him to decide that he's ready to hold hands and dance in a circle with you. There are so many ways to get what you want."

"Those ways are not ethical."

"Strange that you would suggest such things, Snape," Moody said, his good eye squinting suspiciously at Snape while his magical eye stayed trained on the closed door, keeping an eye on Dursley.

"Excuse me?" Snape said, his voice lowered dangerously. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't think I'm going to forget what Dursley said about you," Moody said. He moved into Snape's personal space, glaring at him.

Snape glared back down his beaky nose at the former auror. "Since when do you take a lunatic's ramblings as anything useful? It was my impression that you thought the whole idea of time travel to be utterly preposterous?"

Moody grunted. "He convinced me. The level of emotion, the desperation- that's not something that can easily be faked."

"Well," Snape said, "I still don't think time travel has anything to do with this."

"Really?" Moody sneered. "You think you know better than Albus?"

Snape glanced at Dumbledore. "I just think that you've jumped to this conclusion prematurely."

"Regardless of who he is and how he came here, he knows information that could help us," Dumbledore said.

"Yeah, well, he said he's not going to help us and _you_ said that we're not going to employ questionable measure, so how do you expect to get that information?"

"You know the saying, Severus. You can catch more unicorns with honey than with vinegar."

Snape and Moody stared at Dumbledore. "That's going to take forever," Snape groaned.

Moody, however, was slowly nodding. "You want to gain his trust."

Dumbledore spread his hands. "If we can convince him that we are all on the same side, then he will willingly tell us what we need to know."

"Good luck with that," Snape grumbled.

"Thank you, Severus!" Dumbledore beamed. "I appreciate your support with this."

Then Moody asked the question they had all been thinking. "What do you think happened, in the future he came from?"

Dumbledore shook his head bleakly. "Nothing good, I'm afraid."

* * *

Fred and George apparated into the room Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in with two loud cracks.

"Dumbledore's leaving," Fred announced.

"Already?" Harry asked. "I thought they were going to interrogate-" he cut himself off.

"Yeah?" George asked, his eyebrows raised. "Who were they going to interrogate? We tried to eavesdrop, but mum cornered us in the kitchen and wouldn't let us leave until Dumbledore came down."

"Nobody," Harry muttered.

Fred put his hands on his hips and glared at Harry, doing his best Mrs. Weasley impression. "Now Harry, why won't you tell us anything? I know you've told Ron and Hermione, why not us?"

Harry growled. "Stuff it, Fred, I wasn't even supposed to tell _them._ If I told you two, Dumbledore probably won't tell me anything ever again. Is he gone yet?"

George shrugged. "He was saying goodbye to everyone else. We just wanted to let you lot know."

Harry stood up. "If he's still here, then there are some things I need to ask him."

"Are you going to ask him about-" Hermione started to stay.

"I'll tell you two later about it," Harry said, looking meaningfully at Fred and George, who collapsed on the bed, groaning in mock pain.

"Did you hear that, Fred? He doesn't trust us!"

As Harry left the room, he could hear Ron behind him: "And he has good reason to!" But Harry never got to hear what those reasons were. He wanted to catch Dumbledore before he left.

It was good that he had hurried, because he caught the headmaster with his hand on the doorknob, about to leave.

"Professor!" Harry called out. Dumbledore turned around. "Yes, Harry?"

"I wanted to talk to you," Harry said.

Dumbledore shifted his weight. "I don't know if now is a good time, Harry."

"You said that you would try better to keep me informed," stated Harry.

Dumbledore nodded. "I did. And I _am_ doing my best." The sincerity in his blue eyes was almost palpable.

"And while I do appreciate being allowed into the meeting about Dursley, I've...I've thought about it after you left Privet Drive a week ago, and you never actually answered my questions about what Voldemort is up to."

Dumbledore frowned. "Harry, I-"

"No, you didn't," said Harry bluntly. "You gave me a vague answer and said you were going to tell me more, but you never did. So I want to know- or actually, I _need_ to know what's going on. With the war I mean."

Dumbledore was silent for a few seconds. "Need is a strong word, my boy."

"Look, I'm not going to get into this argument again. But Voldemort's going to come after me eventually. That's pretty much a given. We agree on that, right?"

Dumbledore looked sorrowful. "Much as I hate to admit it, yes. He has proven time and time again that he will come after you."

"Then I need to know what he's been doing since he came back. And what the Order has been doing to stop him. And please don't just tell me that you're 'gathering power.' That doesn't mean anything."

"Harry, there are some things that I just cannot-"

"There's some big secret that you lot are hiding that you don't want me to know. Fine. Keep that secret from me and I hope you are able to sleep at night." Harry ran a hand through his hair. For some reason, he wasn't being as polite and trusting as he usually tried to be with Dumbledore. Oh well. He needed to know, and being trusting hadn't gotten him anywhere with Dumbledore yet. "But I need to know this."

"Ask your questions, my boy, and I will do my best."

That was probably the best Harry was going to get, so he ran with it. "First of all, where's Voldemort? And what's he been doing? I've been trying to watch the muggle news, and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything-"

"That's because there haven't been any suspicious deaths yet," answered Dumbledore. "He doesn't want to draw attention to himself at the moment. It would be too dangerous. He has returned after being believed dead for many years, and he needs to gather support and followers, to recuperate and reacquaint himself with having a physical body. Years ago, before the first war started, he acted similarly. He needs to gather followers before announcing himself to the world."

"I don't know," Harry muttered. "From what I saw in the graveyard, it looked like he already has a lot of support."

"He also never expected you to survive." Dumbledore looked at Harry over the tops of his glasses. "You put quite a wrench in his plans, Harry."

"How?" Harry asked perplexedly.

"You survived to bear witness, and one of the first persons you bore witness to was me."

"You?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "Voldemort has always been reluctant to fight me face to face. Perhaps he fears me, perhaps he fears only what I know about him. Regardless, he would not be pleased that I know about his return. And, thanks to your speedy report, I was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned."

"So what's the Order been doing?" said Harry, looking around at them all.

"Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans," said Dumbledore.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Such a vague answer. "How d'you know what his plans are?" he asked quickly. "Snape's a spy, right?"

"Professor Snape is a spy, yes," Dumbledore said. "But that is not all. What many forget, Harry, is that I knew Tom personally. I taught him for seven years, after all. Knowing him, I can anticipate his actions and take preventive action before he acts."

"So what d'you reckon he's planning?"

"Firstly," Dumbledore held up a finger, "he wants to build up his army again. I've already mentioned it, but his number of followers has been vastly reduced, either through death or imprisonment. In the old days he had vast numbers at his command; witches and wizards he'd bewitched or blackmailed into following him and his faithful death eaters, as well as a great variety of dark creatures."

"So you're trying to stop him from getting more followers?"

Dumbledore nodded. "We're doing our best."

"How?"

"Well, the main thing it to try and convince as many people as possible that Voldemort has returned, to put them on their guard. It has been proving difficult because of the Ministry's attitude."

"So if no one believes us that Voldemort is back, then what's the point of trying to convince people?"

Dumbledore hesitated. "We have reached out to the muggle Prime Minister and explained the circumstances to him. There is also an Order member assigned to guard him. We are also reaching out to other groups. The giants, werewolves, goblins. Those who would have no reason to trust what the ministry says, but who would be detrimentally affected by the war."

Harry nodded slowly. He hadn't thought about the fact that it wouldn't be just the wizarding world affected. "What about house elves?" he asked as the thought struck him. "They could be a lot of help."

"Unfortunately, in the case of house elves, they are magically bound to obey their masters. There is no way for us to break the bond-"

"We don't need to break any bonds, we can just talk to the free house elves and ask for their help." Harry shrugged. It seemed simple to him.

Dumbledore, however, frowned. "I don't think it will work, Harry."

"Why not?"

"Because house elves are not capable of making such decisions for themselves. They do not have the cognitive power. It would be like forcing children to fight in our war."

Harry was about to protest, but Dumbledore stopped him. "We digress. Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

"You won't tell me why Voldemort keeps trying to kill me, will you," Harry said flatly.

"No," Dumbledore said regretfully. "I cannot."

"Then no, Professor, I don't have any questions right now."

Dumbledore nodded at him. "Then I will take my leave. I hope you have an enjoyable rest of your summer, Harry. And I will see you in a few days. We must discuss our plan for your hearing." And then he left.

The next few days weren't as exciting. Mrs. Weasley kept them all working very hard. Sirius had referred to their work as "cleaning," but in Harry's opinion they were really waging a war on the house, which was putting up a very good fight, aided and abetted by Sirius' crazy house elf, who was devoted to the memory of his old masters and kept removing everything he could from the rubbish sacks.

The doorbell rang several times a day, which was the cue for one of the portraits to start shrieking, and for Harry and the others to attempt to eavesdrop on the visitor, though they gleaned very little from the brief glimpses and snatches of conversation they were able to sneak before Mrs. Weasley recalled them to their tasks.

Sometimes Moody or Dumbledore would slip through almost unnoticed, going upstairs to the room that Dursley was in, and although Snape flitted in and out of the house on several occasions, Harry noticed that he never went into Dursley's room.

As for Dursley himself, no one caught so much as a glimpse of him. He never came out of his room. Mrs. Weasley brought food up for him three times a day, but wouldn't say anything about him. Fred and George claimed to have heard Moody muttering to Tonks that the muggle was being difficult and refusing to say anything, but none of the adult members mentioned him directly. There was never any noise coming from the room, either. Hermione thought that Dumbledore had put a spell on it so that no sound could come in or out.

"Harry dear?" Harry looked up from where he was scrubbing the dresser in the dining room. "Yeah, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked, wiping his forehead with his wrist. Mrs. Weasley's lips were pursed. Despite her obvious disapproval, Harry didn't think it was directed at him. "Could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Dumbledore would like a word with you."

Harry's mouth fell open. He looked around at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, all of whom were gaping back at him.

"Dumbledore? He's here? Now?" said Harry blankly.

"_Professor _Dumbledore, dear," said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly. "Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long."

"What's he want with you?" said Ron, looking curious as Mrs. Weasley withdrew from the room. "You haven't done anything, have you?"

"No!" said Harry indignantly, racking his brains to think what he could have done that Dumbledore would want to talk to him about. He rose to his feet and looked down at his clothes. He was wearing Dudley's oldest and raggediest cast offs, which were now covered in spider webs and grime. "D'you reckon I should change?"

"If he doesn't have much time, maybe not," said Hermione.

"It's probably about your trial," Ginny said.

Harry froze. "My trial?"

"Yeah. It's tomorrow, isn't it?"

Harry stared at her. He had, in fact, forgotten that his trial was the next day. He hadn't forgotten that it was coming up; in fact, whenever he dropped his guard, or lay exhausted in bed watching blurred shadows move across the ceiling, the thought of the looming Ministry hearing returned to him. But whenever he thought about it, it was something looming ominously somewhere in the distant future.

"Yeah. I guess it is." His voice sounded strangled.

He pushed open the kitchen door a minute or two later to find Dumbledore seated at the long kitchen table in a squashy chintz armchair that looked as out of place as Harry felt.

"Harry, so good to see you, my boy," Dumbledore said. "Please sit down." Harry could feel Dumbledore's eyes on him as he sat down.

"My boy, do you remember what you said to me five days ago, about informing you about my plans for you?"

_Of course I remember it, _Harry thought.

But "Yeah," was all he said.

"Well, I have not forgotten about it either. Which is why I have taken the time out of my schedule to speak with you-"

_Here it is_, thought Harry. _He's finally going to tell me why Voldemort wants to kill me._

"-about your upcoming Disciplinary Hearing."

Harry stared blankly at him. "My what?"

"You trial, Harry." Harry got the impression that if Dumbledore were younger, he would have rolled his eyes."

"Oh. My trial."

"Yes. I am sure you have not forgotten about your hearing tomorrow."

"No, of course not," Harry said unconvincingly.

"Don't worry, Harry, it's a clear cut case of self-defense." He beamed at Harry, who was trying to hide his confusion.

"But what if they don't believe me?"

"It should not be that much trouble. The hearing will be held in Amelia Bones' office. She is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and is the one who will be questioning you, and she is reasonable and intelligent. In the unlikely case that she does not believe you- which is very unlikely, my boy- then Mrs. Arabella Figg has agreed to testify."

"Ok," said Harry. "But- what do I say when they question me? _Are _they going to question me?"

"Yes, of course, it is your hearing, after all. You will be called upon to give testimony. My advice to you is to simply be truthful."

"Be truthful?" Harry repeated doubtfully. "No offence, Professor, but the Ministry doesn't seem to like it when I'm truthful."

"Truth resonates in the hearts of those who are good, my boy. Some may doubt your story, but Madame Bones will recognize the truth when she hears it. And try and stay calm. It is unlikely that anyone else will be present, but if so, don't get too overwrought."

_Easier said than done,_ thought Harry. _He's not the one who will have to deal with everyone calling him a liar._

But as Dumbledore finished coaching Harry on how to act while at the Ministry, he realized that Dumbledore _did_ have to deal with everyone calling him a liar, just because he had believed _Harry_.

Harry couldn't help but feel guilty about it. Dumbledore had been one of, if not _the _most admired wizard in Great Britain, and now the _Prophet_ had turned on him. Harry could see the stress lining Dumbledore's already wrinkled face. _The least I can do,_ he thought, _is follow his advice while at the Ministry._

The next day, Harry awoke at half-past five. He lay in bed, staring up at the blurry ceiling and trying to figure out why he had woken up so early. Then he remembered that it was the day of his trial.

He got up and dressed quietly, trying not to wake Ron up. He was filled with nervousness as he got ready for the day and padded down the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast. At least he knew what to say and how to act, he thought. At least Dumbledore was keeping his promise...kind of. It was a start, at least.

Harry ate his breakfast and accepted the good luck wishes from those who were in the kitchen, and then set off with Arthur Weasley.

Like planned, they met Dumbledore by Mr. Weasley's office.

"Thank you for bringing him, Arthur," Dumbledore said hastily. "Harry, come, hurry, they've changed the time and venue, we must hurry."

Dumbledore led Harry through the ministry, leaving Mr. Weasley behind.

"Why would they change it?" he asked, struggling to keep up with Dumbledore's long strides.

"It's been moved to Courtroom Ten instead of Madame Bones' office." Dumbledore said after a few moments. "They're trying to intimidate you." Dumbledore glanced at him. "You remember what we talked about, I am sure?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Stay calm and tell them the truth."

Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Just stick to that and don't lose your temper."

Harry grimaced. He was aware that his temper ran a little hot. Sometimes he just couldn't help it.

Dumbledore slid to a stop beside the lifts and jabbed impatiently at the down button. With a great jangling and clattering the lift descended in front of them. The golden grille slid back and Harry and Dumbledore hurried inside. Immediately, Dumbledore pressed the number nine button. He took a deep breath as the lift doors slid shut.

A few seconds later the lift came to a halt and a plump witch carrying a smoking goblet entered the lift. Dumbledore pulled out his pocket watch and checked it. He smiled reassuringly at Harry. "No reason to be concerned, my boy. They can't start without you."

"The Atrium," said a cool female voice and the golden grilles slid open, showing Harry a distant glimpse of a fountain. The plump witch got out and a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face got int.

"Morning, Albus,"" he said in a sepulchral voice as the lift began to descend. "Don't often see you down here…"

"Urgent business, Bode," said Dumbledore carefully.

"Ah, yes," said Bode, surveying Harry unblinkingly. His unfaltering gaze made Harry uncomfortable, but he didn't have much time to think about before the lift came to another stop, the voice announced, "Department of Mysteries," and Dumbledore was pulling Harry off the lift and past Bode into a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart form a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Harry expected for Dumbledore to lead him through the small black door, but instead he strode to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps.

"Why couldn't we have taken the lift all the way down?" Harry gasped out. He clutched at the stitch in his side.

"The lift doesn't come down this far," said Dumbledore tersely.

They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to that which led to Snape's dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. They doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes. They came to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock.

This must be it. Harry's heart was beating a violent tattoo against his Adam's apple. He swallowed hard, watching as Dumbledore's gaunt hand turned the heavy iron door handle, and they stepped inside.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite Harry's fears, the trial went exactly as Dumbledore had planned. Fudge had ignored him and his protestations until Dumbledore had announced that they had a witness. Mrs. Figg had given her testimony, Dumbledore had pulled his benevolent headmaster act, and before Harry knew it, Madam Bones had called for a vote and Harry was cleared. No one paid attention to Harry and Dumbledore as they left the courtroom.

"Come, my boy," said Dumbledore cheerfully once they were in the corridor outside. "Arthur will meet us upstairs, and then he'll take you straight back so you can tell the others. And I wouldn't be surprised if Molly has a little surprise prepared for you." He winked at Harry.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said as they mounted the stairs. "And thanks for telling me earlier what-"

Harry broke off in mid-sentence. They had just reached the ninth-level corridor, and Amelia Bones was standing a few feet away from them, talking quietly to a tall, angular man with dark hair and a pallid face.

The second man turned at the sound of their footsteps. He too broke off mid-conversation, his eyes fixed on Harry's face.

"Harry Potter," said Bode "I did not get a chance to speak with you earlier. Albus was in quite a hurry."

At that moment a shadow was crossing Dumbledore's face. "Ah, perhaps you could speak with Harry at another time, Broderick. He's had a stressful morning." Dumbledore grabbed Harry's arm, trying to keep him moving.

Bode surveyed Harry unblinkingly. His eyes flicked up to Harry's forehead. Harry reached up and smoothed his hair down, trying to cover his scar. "Do you know, Mr. Potter, I have wondered often about you," Bode said softly. "It is unfortunate what you were always destined for." His eyes remained locked on Harry's forehead, where his scar was just barely visible behind his hair. "A bit unfortunate, what happened to you, but fate had her way then as she always does, regardless of how the Dark Lord tried to stop it…and of course, in trying to stop fate, he brought to pass what he feared...but that is the way it is with pro-"

"Broderick," Dumbledore said sharply. Bode glanced at him in slight confusion. "It was good to see you, Broderick. I hope you have a nice day."

While Harry stared at Bode, trying to figure out what he had just said, Dumbledore eyes flicked to Madame Bones. He gestured with a sharp tilt of his head, and she grasped Bode's arm. "Come, Broderick, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

Bode resisted her pull weakly. "Mr. Potter-"

"Mr. Potter's busy," Dumbledore said firmly. He pulled Harry into the lift while Madame Bones pulled Bode in the opposite direction.

During the lift ride upstairs, what Bode had said kept running through Harry's head. What had he meant about Harry, and Voldemort, and fate? What had fate to do with it? And what was the word that he had begun to say?

Once outside the ministry, Dumbledore put a hand on Harry's arm. "We'll be apparating this time, Harry. Ready?"

Harry gave a sullen response in the affirmative, and with a crack, they were on the doorstep of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

* * *

"I knew it!" yelled Ron, punching the air. "You always get away with stuff!"

"They were bound to clear you," said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety when Harry had entered the kitchen and was now holding a shaking hand over her eyes. "There was no case against you, none at all…"

"Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering they all knew I'd get off," said Harry smiling.

Mrs. Weasley wiped her face on her apron. "Of course, there wasn't any chance of them not clearing you, Harry dear," she said tremulously. "Now come on into the dining room, you lot," she said to the kids. "I baked a cake to celebrate."

Fred, George, and Ginny halted their chanting of "He got off, he got off, he got off" and made a beeline for the door.

"I'm afraid I have to get back to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "But perhaps I have time for just one slice," he continued, patting his stomach jovially.

Harry watched them all head to the dining room. He had been cleared of all charges, he was surrounded by the people he considered his family, and they were going to have a party. Looking around at the Weasleys, Sirius, Lupin, and Dumbledore, he felt an almost uncomfortable warm feeling in his chest.

"Come on, Harry," Ron said, looking at Harry weird. "What are you waiting for?"

Harry laughed and shook his head, following Ron into the kitchen. They almost ran into Dumbledore, who was standing right inside the dining room.

"What is this?" said Dumbledore coldly. Harry poked his head past Ron and Dumbledore and saw Mrs. Weasley wringing her hands.

"I- I thought- you know, he's locked up there all the time, never gets to see anyone, and it's not as if he can leave anyway-"

Harry stuck his head out further and saw Vernon Dursley standing in the dining room. The feeling of jubilance that had been in the air was gone. Lupin was looking back and forth between Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore while Sirius was watching Dursley distrustfully. The kids were all staring at Dursley unabashedly, and Harry remembered that they hadn't seen him yet.

It was also the first time that Harry had seen Dursley since he had arrived at the Order headquarters. He looked much the same as Harry remembered him looking when he had appeared at Privet Drive; like an older, more worn down version of Uncle Vernon.

"Molly," said Dumbledore, "He was kept in that room for a reason."

"I know," she said. "But he's Harry's uncle, and we are celebrating Harry being cleared. I thought Harry would want him here." She glanced at Harry, her face and wrung her hands.

Dumbledore shook his head slowly.

Dursley had been silent so far, but now he spoke up. "What do you mean, the boy was cleared? Was he arrested? Did he commit a crime?" His face was gleeful.

Dumbledore was silent, so Harry answered. "It was the dementors. My patronus charm. The ministry sent me a letter about it, after the dementor attack. Remember?" he said boldly.

Dursley winced. "I do," he said, his face showing shadows and lines that Harry didn't remember seeing. As far as Harry knew, his uncle had never encountered dementors. But maybe in the future…

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, "Please don't talk to Mr. Dursley. He'll be heading up to his room very soon."

"Why don't you want me talking to him?" Harry said. "He's my uncle, isn't he?" He stared unflinchingly at Dumbledore.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said with a tilt of his head. "That is indeed one theory. He could also be a spy."

Harry scowled. "You seemed pretty convinced earlier that he wasn't a spy. What made you change your mind? Is there something you don't want me to tell him? Or maybe," Harry said, his eyes widening, "something that you don't want him to tell me?" Harry's mind raced. He remembered what Bode had said earlier that day.

"Do you know anything about what fate has to do with me and Voldemort?" he asked Dursley.

Dursley shrugged nonchalantly. "Something to do with your prophecy, I'm sure," he said

There was a stunned silence for a few seconds as Harry stared at his uncle and a look of shock spread across Dumbledore's face.

"What pro-" Harry started to ask Vernon, but Dumbledore moved quicker. A silent stunner ensured Vernon's silence and he crumpled to the floor with a thud.

Harry spun around to look at Dumbledore. The headmaster's face was starting to look desperate. "He didn't know what he was talking about. How could he?"

"Is there a prophecy about me?" Harry demanded.

Dumbledore flinched. "No, of course not."

"Then why did you stun Uncle Vernon?"

"Because- I - well, because-" he stuttered. "Because he obviously doesn't know anything. How could he know why Voldemort keeps trying to kill you? How could anyone know, anyway? There's probably no reason at all, and Voldemort just has this strange fixation on you for no reason. But I didn't want you to get any wrong ideas from your uncle, which is why I stunned him." Dumbledore took a deep, gulping breath, then nodded. "That's why."

Harry wasn't convinced, but he didn't pursue it. Dumbledore took another deep breath and ran a hand over his hair. He seemed shaken up.

Harry kept his eyes on Snape, levitating Uncle Vernon back to his room. Before Dumbledore left, he called out a warning to Harry. "Don't try and talk to your uncle, Harry. You can't trust anything he says. He's just trying to get a rise out of you. Promise me you won't try and talk to him, Harry."

Harry didn't respond.

"I just don't want you to be hurt, my boy," Dumbledore said softly.

"I'll do my best, sir," Harry finally said coldly.

Dumbledore didn't seem entirely satisfied with that response, but he seemed to realize it was the best he would get, and nodded and left.

Harry motioned at Ron and Hermione to follow him, and then silently went up the stairs and to his room. Mrs. Weasley called after him, but Harry ignored whatever she said.

"Uncle Vernon knows something," was the first thing he said after Ron closed the door to the bedroom the two boys were sharing. "There's some kind of prophecy, and Dumbledore doesn't want me to know about it."

"Harry, why would you think that?" Ron asked. "How in Merlin's name would your uncle know something like that? He's the worst kind of muggle. Right, Hermione?" Ron turned to Hermione, but she bit her lip. "Dumbledore thinks that he knows something important," she said slowly. "That's why they're still keeping him here, and why people keep going up there to talk to him. They think he knows something that's going to happen, but he won't tell them."

"Yeah, ok, he might know about some attack that's going to happen, or someone who's killed, maybe, but there's no way he'd know about something as big as a prophecy."

Harry interrupted them. "Do we have any idea about what happened to Uncle Vernon? How he traveled back in time, and why?"

Hermione and Ron shook their heads.

"And he's mentioned that someone is dead, and that it's- that it's my fault. And if the 'they' he's referring to is Aunt Petunia and Dudley, and they were killed by death eaters, then I don't think it's far-fetched to assume that Uncle Vernon would try and get revenge."

There was silence for a moment, then- "You don't think he joined the Order, do you?" Ron asked in mild disgust.

"That seems unlikely," Hermione agreed. "Didn't you say that he hates magic?"

"I don't think he actually hates magic, I think he just fears it."

"And you think if his family was killed by magic, he would be willing to use magic to get revenge?"

"I think he'd be willing to use anything to get revenge. Look, Ron, Hermione, I know him best. He loses his temper quickly, and logic is not his strong point. Yeah, he doesn't like magic now, but I think that if something like we're talking about were to happen, his temper would override his fear of magic and he'd use it. I don't think he'd officially join the Order-"

"Yeah, a muggle in the Order- that would never happen," Ron agreed.

"But I think he'd still work with them. Maybe just go after the death eaters himself, and sometimes he'd run into members of the Order, and they'd share information, or whatever."

Harry could tell by the way Ron and Hermione were looking at each other that he didn't have them convinced, but he didn't care.

"So if that's how Dursley know about the prophecy, the next question is, how do we get him to tell us what the prophecy says?"

. . . . .

"Harry, I still don't think this is a good idea," Hermione whispered

"Then why are you here?" he whispered back. Hermione gave him a small shove. "Because you're our friend."

"Even if you are an idiot sometimes," Ron added on.

The three of them were sneaking up the stairs to the room where Dursley was being kept. Harry had his invisibility cloak, but unfortunately all three of them no longer fit under the cloak. It was past midnight, and everyone was supposed to be asleep, but Harry had had a question burning in his mind for the entire day, and he couldn't wait any longer. He had to know what Dursley knew about the prophecy.

Harry's foot slipped on one of the stairs and his shoe squeaked. "Harry!" Hermione whisper-shrieked.

"Sorry!" he hissed back.

"Just be more careful! I saw Snape looked at you funny at dinner."

"Calm down, Hermione," Ron grumbled. "There's no way he'd know what we're doing tonight."

"You can't be too careful," was her quiet answer.

They reached the landing. "Which room?" Ron asked.

"I heard Moody tell Kingsley he was in the second room on this landing," said Harry.

"That's this one," Hermione pointed. "Mrs. Weasley had Ginny and I cleaning it while Moody talked to Dursley downstairs."

Harry gripped the doorknob. "Ready?" he asked. The other two nodded. "Ok." He took a deep breath and opened the door.

The three of them stepped into the room and looked around.

Dursley lay on the bed, his still corpulent body sprawled out on top of the comforter.

"Is he still unconscious?" Ron asked quietly.

Hermione frowned. "He shouldn't be. It's been a few hours; it should have worn off by now."

Harry shut the door. The man on the bed flinched at the click of the door closing. He sat up, gazing blearily at the three kids. "What-?" he mumbled. Then he recognized Harry. "Oi, boy, what are you doing here?"

"I-" Harry stumbled over the words. It was the first time that he had spoken with his futuristic uncle, and he wasn't sure how to act towards him.

Dursley grunted irritably. "What do you want, boy?"

Harry tightened his grip on his wand. "What prophecy were you talking about?" Harry asked coldly. His hand was clutched tightly around his wand.

Dursley laughed in his face. "You mean you were serious earlier? You actually don't know why your parents are dead?" He laughed again.

Harry's vision was starting to redden at the edges. "What. Prophecy."

"There was a prophecy," Dursley said in a singsong, childish voice, "Given by some crazy old witch. About a child who would be born with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord."

"And that's me," Harry said.

"Well, that's definitely what everyone seems to think."

"What does it say?"

Dursley laughed again. "What, you think I know? You think anyone bothered to tell me? I was just cannon fodder for them. They knew I wanted to avenge them, they knew I wanted- I wanted to die, and they used me. Didn't care about telling me why they were dead, just what my next mission was."

"What?" Harry asked. "Who was dead? And what mission?"

"Don't act like you don't know, Potter! You know they're dead, it's all your fault that they're dead!" He was getting a manic gleam in his eyes again.

"Harry," Hermione said. "Maybe we should leave. He's told you all he knows about the prophecy. Let's go." There was pity in her eyes as she looked at Dursley.

"I-" Harry looked at Dursley as well. He had started crying, tears running down his red face. He had seemed to forget that Harry was there, lost in his sorrow.

"What happened to him, d'you think?" Harry asked Hermione quietly.

She shook her head. "I don't know. But I don't think the future is a good place," she answered him as quietly as he had asked.

They left without saying anything else to Dursley. The time traveler was left in the room. He buried his face in his hands, letting his howls out.

In the shadows of the room stood a disillusioned Severus Snape. He watched Dursley cry dispassionately while he pondered on what had just happened.

Dursley knew far more than he expected him to. The existence of a prophecy was known by some, including the Order Members who had been charged with its protection, and while only Dumbledore knew the entirety of the prophecy, there were two others who knew a portion of it: Severus himself and the Dark Lord.

Dursley had claimed to not know anything about the contents of the prophecy, but he had used the phrase, "born with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord," and that rang too close to the actual phrasing for Snape's comfort.

And then what he had said, about being used by someone, and missions, and wanting revenge for someone. In the future that Dursley was from, things had not run as smoothly as Dumbledore had wanted. A world where muggles like Dursley had been involved in the war was one too desperate for Snape's tastes. Clearly, Dursley knew things that were going to happen, and how to stop them. And, because he didn't believe that he had traveled back in time and perhaps also because he blamed some members of the Order for the deaths of someone, likely his family- and Snape tried to hide the discomfort at thinking of Petunia as dead- he wasn't going to give them anything.

The only solution was to take the truth from him.

Snape removed the disillusionment charm. It took a moment for Dursley to notice that someone else was in the room. He flinched violently. "What- how long have you been there?" He glared at Snape while he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. His face was blotchy.

"Long enough," said Snape. "And now I have a few questions."

"Questions? Why? About what?" he sneered.

"You see, unlike Potter, I know that there is a prophecy. And I know that there is no way for you to know about it."

Dursley had grown pale. "So?" he blustered.

"How do you know about the prophecy?" Snape growled. While he was talking, he had moved closer to the bed, looming over Dursley.

Dursley stared back at him. "Prophecy?" he snorted. "You mean you actually paid attention to what I said? You're as stupid as the freak. I don't know anything about a prophecy!" He chuckled. "I just wanted to make the boy look stupid."

Snape smiled slowly. "No. You didn't lie. There is a prophecy. You practically quoted from it. 'The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.'"

Snape could see the wheels in Dursley's mind turning as he tried to remember what he had said. He could see the moment Dursley admitted defeat. "So?" he asked defiantly. "What's your point? So I know about the prophecy. So what?"

"If you know about the prophecy, then what else do you know about?"

Dursley snorted. "We've been over this before, haven't we? I'm not going to tell you anything."

"Because you think that we are death eaters."

"I don't think it, I know it."

"Is there any way I can convince you that you have traveled back in time, and that we share the same goal?"

"Hmm, let me think. No, there's none."

"What about your family?" Snape said slowly, his eyes examining Dursley's face. He watched the other flinch with satisfaction.

"My family is dead." The words were cold and matter of fact.

"Not in this time, they aren't."

Dursley thought about it, but, "Even supposing that I did somehow come back in time-" he said slowly, "And you managed to prove it to me, I would still never help you."

"What! Are you an idiot? Why-"

"Why? Because regardless of what time this is, you have always been a death eater." For the first time since he had set foot in the room, Snape acknowledged the disgust in Dursley's eyes. "Do you want me to list off those whom you killed? Albus Dumbledore. George Weasley. Sybill Trelawney. And those who you did not kill directly, but are dead because of you- Lily Potter. James Potter."

Snape flinched violently away from him. "You-"

"Yeah, I know about that. I know about Lily Evans. Petunia said-" he cut himself off. "You killed your only friend. You are a vile, twisted, evil wizard, and I will never help you or any of your friends."

Snape drew back and wiped Dursley's spittle off his face. His eyes were narrowed as he looked at the muggle who had thrown his biggest mistake back in his face. Dursley looked gleeful and proud at having caused Snape pain. In this moment, Snape was reminded of James Potter.

He took a deep breath, pulling his occlumency shields tighter and trying to hide his emotions. It struck him that Dursley was not as terrified as he should be.

"You claim to know who I am," he said, reining his temper in and getting right in Dursley's face, trying to exude the coldness that he was infamous for. "But you don't look like the Vernon Dursley of this time. Events shape a person. You have experienced more than this time's Dursley."

"Do you have a point with this, or do you just like wasting your breath?"

"And in this future timeline of yours, I killed Albus Dumbledore, and others."

"They really should have known not to trust you. Blood will tell in the end."

Snape was breathing heavily. He was unpleasantly reminded of all the pure-blooded Slytherins who had looked down on him and sneered at him because of his muggle father.

"You know all that, and yet you don't know that you should be afraid of me." His voice had grown coldly gentle.

For the first time, Dursley's face showed signs of uncertainty. "You wouldn't dare do anything." His voice shook slightly. "Dumbledore won't let you do anything to me."

Snape stared at him. For someone who claimed a passionate hatred of anything to do with magic, he did seem to have unswerving faith in Dumbledore.

"Didn't you say that I will kill him?" he murmured. "Why would I care what he forbids?" And he plunged into Dursley's mind, tasting the fear in Dursley's eyes.

He encountered the same shields that he had earlier, but this time, there was no Dumbledore to pull him back. The muggle's mind protection was admirable, but Snape had spent years perfecting his legilimency, and in the end, it was no match.

He had no way of knowing how long it took before Dursley's mind broke before his onslaught, but all it took was one hesitation, one crack in his walls, and Snape was in.

Immediately he was onslaught by a wave of memories, knocking him over and almost drowning him in them.


End file.
